


The Act of Coming Home

by actionpackedlips



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Homophobic Language, M/M, Minor Violence, Oh, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Period-Typical Homophobia, Tags May Change, by the way this does contain singing, how I made a fic a musical, i will never know, learning to love again, two cuties falling in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:35:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 66,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23329360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actionpackedlips/pseuds/actionpackedlips
Summary: Tony Stark's Spectacular and Peculiar Traveling Circus was home to outcast humans and mutants alike. If you could put on a show, if you could draw a crowd, Tony wanted you in his show. When Tony gets wind of a mutant in the town they're performing in, he pays them a visit. Tony levers Wade with an offer: come join them at his circus and leave the ostracized life behind. Wade isn't disillusioned to the reality they live in, and no amount of singing or dancing is going to change that. But when he sees the blushing trapeze artist named Peter, he finds that maybe he could be persuaded to attempt a new outlook on life. If only the trauma of his past would let him.The Greatest Showman au no one asked for!
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 122
Kudos: 190
Collections: Isn't it Bromantic?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I lied. To myself and to whoever I told I wouldn't be posting this until it was finished. It feels like, in light of what's going on in the world, the right thing to do. I plan on writing it and finishing it during this break I'm on, and I don't want to keep it from the world while most of us panic internally and stay stuck at home. If I can make some people smile during these trying times, then it's worth it!
> 
> So I must say, this is a Greatest Showman au. You certainly don't have to have watched it (although I recommended it, it's one of my favorite movies) but you will understand some references and characters if you have. It's loosely based off of Anne Wheeler and Phillip Carlyle's relationship. This fic does contain homophobia, homophobic slurs, prejudice, and violence linked to that time period. (I will tag all this, and add on if anything changes.) This is set late 19th century, early 20th, but mostly I've written it with a hand wave and a bit of light research. I hope you all can still get that old-time feel, even if it's not 100 percent historically accurate. 
> 
> Many thanks to [Unholy_Author](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unholy_Author/pseuds/Unholy_Author) for their amazing beta skills— from which you all benefit from far more than I. This story shines far brighter with their help and recommendations.
> 
> Stay safe, happy reading and let me know what you think!
> 
> (Tags may change along with rating, so be sure to check those as I update! Thank you!)

The sun had barely started to rise, casting the beginnings of the morning in a hazy hue of sunlight. The sky was in the beginning of a beautiful bright clear blue, and the end of a dusty pink and orange color. The sun was not yet visible in its risings past the forest at the far edge of the clearing.

The birds were just starting to wake up and chatter around them. They, too, were ready to start their day.

As beautiful as the day was beginning, Peter was already off to a bad start. Normally he was up way before the sun had a chance to think of creating sunlight for the day. He had slept in, and most likely everyone was already halfway, if not completely, finished with the morning routine preparations.

Peter hadn’t done anything extraordinary yesterday, except maybe practice a tad bit longer than he normally did. The extra sleep definitely was needed, even if he hadn’t meant for it; he felt well rested, and the ache in his shoulder (the same that had stopped him from continuing performance practice last night) was already faded. 

Mr. Stark always made sure they had enough food and beverages throughout the day, and especially at night when they’d just come off from a rigorous show. But, well, Peter often needed more nutrition than most due to his abilities, and with as large a crew as they had now he never felt right taking more than what was given to everyone else.

It was fine. He was fine. It just meant that sometimes he was a tad more lethargic, and often didn’t heal quite as fast as his normal rate. His body had found a way to work past that last night by grabbing a few extra winks. He couldn’t protest too hard at that, as he moved his shoulder and didn’t even feel a twinge.

He just hated not pulling his share of the weight.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” came a lazy drawl to his left. 

Peter turned his head, arm still up in a stretch, he smiled, “Hey, Mr. Stark. Good morning.”

The other man shook his head affectionately from where he was leaning against the covered wagon, “I’ve told you to call me Tony since the day I met you, kid.”

Peter ducked his head and chuckled, bringing his hands to his sides and sliding them into the pockets of his worn trousers.

“And since the day you _found_ me, I’ve told you to not call me ‘kid’,” Peter shrugged. They were at an impasse.

Admittedly, Peter did often call Mr. Stark Tony, just within his own head. He wasn’t sure why it felt wrong to him, to be so familiar with the man. They were indeed quite close. Perhaps it was because Tony had practically saved Peter. Or it could be his late Aunt’s manners still ingrained within him. Maybe it was a bit of both. Who knew?

Tony wandered closer to ruffle his hand through Peter’s already disastrous morning hair.

“Hey!” Peter protested, hands coming up in an attempt to lay his unkempt hair down. It was futile, at least until he got it wet again and could maybe have a glimpse in a mirror. He’d have to ask one of the girls if they had one; if not, he could go find one of the circus’ mirrors. Those just tended to skew your reflection a bit, as they were made to be set up around the circus for guests to gawk at their weird shifted appearances as they walked past.

Tony chuckled, but continued to eye Peter up.

“What?” Peter asked, giving up on his hair altogether. It was always going to be a mess, even when he styled it, and once he started performing all bets were off. He wasn’t sure why he even bothered, everyone here was used to his hair’s natural disarray. Who was he tryin’ to impress?

“You okay, kid?” The older man’s voice held a note of concern, and Peter wasn’t sure why. They were all often pushed past their limits, what with the constant circus life. They got up early to set up for the day, had a few hours of down time in between before the night was showtime; which often didn’t end until the middle of the night when the last few attendees staggered out and left. Then they cleaned up and dismantled what they could, and that was if they weren’t moving. If they were moving the next day they had to do a full pack up. _That_ , after a long night performing, was _never_ fun.

“I’m fine, Mr. Stark, really.” Peter smiled reassuringly. He was just extra tired this week. This town was one of the biggest ones they’d visited so far on their tour. Chicago always drew a large crowd, and it was a lot of long nights and even longer performances. Mr. Stark liked to wow when he had the extra audience for it. Not that they didn’t do that every time, but, well. It was somehow ten times more when they were in larger cities.

Tony seemed to hesitate, as if wanting to say more, before settling on, “Okay, kid. I didn’t come over here to bust your chops. I got a tip from a contact of mine...Want to come along on a recruit?” 

Mr. Stark had contacts all along the US. It was how he found most of them, the exception being Peter who he’d literally just happened to stumble upon one night by chance. Peter had come along on a few recruits; not everyone wanted to be part of the circus life but it often worked if they put up a united front. Tony was 100% human, no extra abilities other than the ones he came naturally by, and there was a long list of them, but even he had a reason the circus was his safe haven.

Peter, on the other hand, was a mutant. Mr. Stark’s circus was littered with human and mutant-kind alike. Tony didn’t discriminate; if you could put on a show, if you could draw a crowd, he wanted you in his circus. 

When they went together, it showed what most mutants didn’t see; there was a place for them. A place where they could be themselves and profit off of it. Sure, maybe the world still saw them as freaks and abominations but they were _paying_ to see those freaks and abominations.

In Mr. Stark's words? Fuck ‘em.

Not all their attendees were assholes. A lot of them were curious children and even more curious adults. They often visited towns who had only heard of mutants, never seen one (or so they thought— mutants were good at blending in, if their mutation wasn’t obvious) so they were usually more awe-struck than anything. 

But that didn’t mean everyone was okay with their traveling around. Some people were downright nasty. Harassment found and followed them when they stayed for longer than a few days in those places. They were often pelted with glass bottles, or one memorable time, a shoe. Someone had literally taken their own shoe off their foot to lob at Peter. He’d kept it in retaliation. 

Tony marked those towns off when they visited, and they usually never went back. They may put themselves on stage for the world to see, to gaze at, to mutter about behind their hands, but they didn’t have to willingly subject themselves to that kind of degradation. They’d had enough of that in their lives _before_ the circus life.

“Sure,” Peter agreed, wanting to get out and help in a way he hadn’t been able to this morning. Plus, he hadn’t gotten to visit the town since they arrived a few days ago, the only glimpses the ones he’d seen through the back of the wagon as they passed through it with their group. He wanted to stretch his legs and see something other than the dusty clearing they were calling home for this week.

“Alright,” Tony smiled, corners of his eyes wrinkling up in happiness, “I’ll meet you in fifteen out in front of the big top.”

Peter nodded, watching Tony walk away. The extra time was for his own sake, he knew. Mr. Stark was already dressed, all he needed was to shrug on his suit jacket and he’d have been on his way. Peter was another story entirely.

So, he pulled himself back up into the back of the covered wagon and rifled through his things. 

Most of the crew stayed in tents set up farther away, behind the circus itself, not able to be seen by guests, but a few of them preferred to sleep closer to the circus. Some in protection of it, some in comfort. A few of them slept near the animals, in the hay along the makeshift pens, others in covered wagons not currently filled with equipment; that’s what Peter preferred. A tent felt too big just for himself, not when someone else could be using it. He was comfy enough in the wagon with all the blankets and pillows he’d acquired in his travels, and it was just enough space for him to unpack the few things he did own. 

He also preferred the seclusion of it. It meant his heightened senses didn’t pick up much but the snuffle of the animals, and the general hum and buzz of nature around them. It was relaxing, at night, when he needed it the most after a long, adrenaline-filled night of performing. It was hard to fall asleep when he could hear late night conversations, laughter, and, he blushed just thinking about it, other things. 

Peter changed out his threadbare sleep trousers for a thicker pair, slipping a flowy white shirt over his head. He searched for a minute, unsure where he laid down his suspenders. He didn’t always wear them, but if he didn’t he’d be pulling his britches up all day. His clothes were often a tad too big on him. He threw a blanket to the side and— aha! 

Peter snatched up the suspenders and clipped them onto his pants, tucked his shirt in, and slipped the straps over his shoulders as he hopped back down onto the grass. He wiggled his toes in the dusty dirt and patches of dry grass. He always toed off his shoes before climbing into the wagon, so they usually went flying separate ways. Once he’d found them and slipped them on, he went in search of Tony.

The quiet of the morning dissipated as he neared the middle of the put together circus, and guilt gnawed at his belly. Hunger did, as well, but he probably had already missed what breakfast had been whipped up for the morning. He didn’t deserve to go begging for scraps when he hadn’t helped them set up. He lifted a hand in greeting as he passed a few of his friends; some putting finishing touches to their work, others lounging around having long been finished. The laughter and chatter a background to the sound of booths and other structures being erected for the day.

Tony was waiting by his prized stallion, Jarvis, feeding him carrots from out of his pockets. Jarvis would be pulling them into town today; he was already harnessed up to the rather elaborate and ornate carriage they used in their equestrian acts. Tony found opportunity in every way to advertise their traveling circus, and far be it from him to use the boring old carriages. No, heads would turn when they rolled into town; everyone would know where they were from and Tony would relish in it.

Peter climbed up into the box seat, scooting over to the farthest side so Tony would have plenty of room to man the reins. Peter didn’t work with the horses much, and as such was often nervous around them. He would help out on animal duty when need be, but beyond that he gave the animals a wide berth. They got shifty around him for reasons unknown, but Peter could guess it had something to do with his mutation. 

Tony gave one last lingering pat to Jarvis’ flank, before whispering something into his ear that had the horse shaking his head and whinnying. 

“Atta boy,” Tony praised, before hefting himself right up next to Peter.

He grabbed the reins and gave Peter one of his shit eating grins, “You ready?”

Peter had barely let out a nod before Tony was cracking the reins, Jarvis pulling the carriage off towards the potential of another member to add to their show.

The circus was set up only a few miles outside of the closest town, so with Jarvis trotting along at a steady pace it took them less than ten minutes to reach the edge of it. Like Peter predicted, anyone and everyone outside stopped what they were doing to watch them ride past. There were children pointing excitedly, following the gleam of gemstones as they danced along the road; there were adults gawking, some intentionally ignoring them, and others frowning in disapproval. 

All of it was met by Tony Stark’s trademark show-time smile, and a wave. 

Peter may have willingly put his life on a stage, wearing fantastical outfits and flipping around, but he didn’t like this kind of attention. In his everyday wear, he was just a slim city kid who’d gotten rescued by the circus life. He only felt powerful onstage. Unlike Tony who was eating this up, Peter was ducking his head and trying to look invisible.

They passed houses that gave way to businesses that eventually scattered out into the slummier part of the edge of town. The cobblestones here were broken, causing the carriage to shift unevenly as they crossed them. The businesses in this part of town looked abandoned, or disused; most with broken windows and dirty store fronts.

“Mr. Stark…” Peter’s senses felt uneasy. “What are we doing here?”

Tony looked no different than he had at the very start of town, and continued to urge Jarvis along. 

“I told you,” Tony said, glancing around as if looking for something, “we're recruiting.”

Peter raised his eyebrows skeptically, “What are we recruiting here? The gutter rats?”

Tony let out a guffaw, before exclaiming, “Oh! There it is. Woah, Jarvis, _woah._ ”

Jarvis came to a halt, shaking his head side to side anxiously. Peter frankly agreed with the sentiment.

Peter looked around, but nothing stood out to him. This part of town was a sorry sight to see, for sure. He wondered just who Tony could possibly be interested in in this part of town.

Tony descended the carriage, fixing Jarvis’ reins to a rail outside the dilapidated store front. The wood was faded with age, and any paint that had once brought life to the place was either gone or peeling away. Peter eyed a rusted sign along the side of a door that, if he was honest, didn’t quite sit on the hinges right.

_Sister Margaret’s_

_School For_

_Wayward Girls_

Peter couldn’t help the dubious look he threw Tony’s way as he climbed down from the carriage. He walked up to Tony, who had taken the two creaking steps up to the front door. If that’s what it could even be called.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Mr. Stark,” he warned hesitantly. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Tony, he did. One hundred percent. But often Tony was fond of taking risks that didn’t always pan out the way he believed they would. This looked like one of those times.

Tony reached for the handle, “Don’t I always?” He smirked as he opened the door, which proceeded to slump off several hinges and scrap itself along the floor. 

Peter snorted, moving around Tony and the half broken door, and replied, “Sure, Mr. Stark. Whatever you say.”

The first thing that Peter noticed was the smell, causing his nose to scrunch up involuntarily in disgust. It smelled strongly of urine, alcohol, and stale sweat all mixed into one. He preferred the odor of the animals and their stalls over this! How anyone was sitting here without gagging was beyond him. 

The second was the patrons of the establishment. His senses were going haywire, causing him to flinch away, and Tony at his back laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Everyone in this establishment looked ready to fight, like it wouldn’t take much to start one. Some were missing teeth, or wearing eye patches. He noticed one man that looked to have blood on his shirt!

They were all scowling or frowning distrustingly in their direction. He didn’t dare speak, almost frozen in his brimming fear, but if he could he would have told Tony that they were clearly in the wrong place. _No one_ in this place would be a good fit for their show, let alone the family they’d created there. 

Tony prodded Peter forward with the same hand he’d clasped affectionately on his shoulder. 

No one bothered them as they made their way across the dim saloon and to the bar. Heads turned, and muttered curses were thrown their way, but no one stepped between them.

There was one lone man sitting hunched at the small bar, besides the bartender working behind it. It was almost as if everyone was giving him his space, not wanting to disturb his solitude. Peter was confused as to why, until he got closer.

The man was completely covered. From the top of his head, to the very bottom of his toes. He wore a black mask which, Peter noticed as the man turned to glance curiously in their direction, only had the smallest holes for his eyes. He had on a dark long sleeved shirt, with even darker trousers, and his hands were covered with gloves. He wore thick black boots on his feet, which looked rather heavy and clunky in Peter’s opinion. Not _one_ thing on the man was revealed, except the blue of his eyes.

And blue they were. Peter had never seen such colored eyes. They were like the sky on a clear summer day, or the clean water of a shallow creek; Peter could almost see himself reflected in them. The man was also, even in his slumped over position, extremely built and extremely tall. Peter felt almost dwarfed next to him, and he was of an average size (or so he liked to maintain). 

“Are you Wade Winston Wilson?” Tony asked, plopping down on the seat directly next to the masked man. Peter always knew Tony had a death wish.

Tony made a waving motion to the bartender, before pointing to a bottle of clear liquid and holding up two fingers.

The bartender filled two shots, before leaving to resume whatever he’d been occupied doing. Tony slid one over to the man and kept one himself.

The man looked from Tony to the shot then back down at his own drink, which seemed rather full. Peter wondered how he’d drink from it without a spot open for his mouth. It seemed rather redundant to keep lifting the mask, but, well. It was none of Peter’s concern what the gentleman did.

“Who’s askin’?” The man grunted back, hand tightening on his sweating glass.

“Tony Stark,” Tony extended a hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

The man grunted again, making no move to extend his own, “What do you want?”

Tony, not missing a beat with the rejection, leaned in closer and said conspiratorially, “What we all want.”

That got the man’s attention, eyes gliding over Tony, “Yeah? An’ what’s that?”

“A place where we belong,” Tony whispered solemnly. 

The thing with Tony was that he truly believed in what they all did back at the circus. He didn’t just want a place for people to gape and laugh at them all; he wanted to turn people’s views on their sides and make them _see_. See them for what they were, what they looked like, what they could do. He wanted to use their odd looks, their mutations, and talents, to make the world a more fitting place for them all. He had carved that piece out at the circus, a spot where they truly shined and belonged, now he just wanted the rest of the world to get it.

The man shook his head, laughing meanly, “You hear this shit, Weas?”

His comment was directed to the bartender, a greasy spectacle-wearing man, who was currently shining a glass with a dirty rag behind the bar. The man shrugged as if it didn’t matter either way to him, and went back to his task.

“Eh, fuck you, too.” 

The man turned to face Stark head on, and said, “Yeah, name’s Wade, but I don’t know why the hell you’re looking for me, and I certainly ain’t going to find anywhere I belong with the two of you.”

With that, he ripped off his mask. Behind it was the most scarred human being Peter had ever seen. They covered his entire grimacing face, seeming to extend down past where his shirt was buttoned up to the very top button. 

He was extraordinary, unique, dare he even say…

“ _Handsome_ ,” Peter murmured, thought slipping out into an audible comment. His face blazed red with mortification when the man turned to look at him in utter confusion.

Tony, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have heard. He snapped his fingers at Peter and said,

“The papers, Peter.”

On their way into town, Peter had noticed a few papers by his feet. He’d picked them up, and inquired with Tony as to what they were.

“Just a little bit of information and hopefully,” he winked, “incentive,” then asked Peter to hold onto them until they got them to who they needed to see.

Peter hastily held them out to Mr. Stark, but they were snatched up by a gloved hand.

“Stark's Spectacular and Peculiar Traveling Circus,” Wade muttered while reading, eyes skimming the page. Peter took the time to admire, _quietly_ , the man in front of him. He had the most amazing bone structure. High cheekbones, and deep set eyes that gave him the most defined eyebrows (even without having hair!); a perfectly round bald scalp, which made Peter want to reach out and touch. He wondered what the scarred skin would feel like under his palm. He, thankfully, refrained.

And his _lips_. Oh, they were scarred too but looked so soft and plush that Peter wondered, yet again in the span of seconds, what the texture would feel like against his own.

This was doing nothing for the warmth gathering at his face, and at his own last thought he averted his eyes to land on the sticky floor. He’d never had such a barrage of _those_ kinds of thoughts before, and was mortified that he was having them now towards a man Mr. Stark was trying to recruit. 

“I’ve heard of it,” Wade admitted, shifting between the papers, “what mutant ‘round these parts hasn’t? But I still don’t understand what that has to do with me.”

“I want you in my show,” Tony said simply. And to him, it was. 

Wade made it even simpler, “No.” 

Tony pointed to the remaining papers Wade had yet to read, “Don’t you want to—”

Wade cut him off with a curt, “Not really.”

“Look,” Tony started, and Peter could hear the sincerity deep within his voice, “I don’t make anyone join who doesn’t want to be there. But we’re putting on a show tonight, just before dusk. Why don’t you come out, just take a look. Ticket on me.”

Wade set the papers down, and rapped one with a knuckle, staying silent.

“If there’s any part of you that longs for more,” Tony spoke, getting up from his seat, “that envisions more, come out to see our show. There’s a place for you there. Right, Peter?”

Wade’s gaze, which had been focused on the papers in front of him, slid to Peter’s. When their eyes met, the hairs on Peter’s arms stood up and a thrilling shiver trailed down his spine; his toes curled from it within his boots.

“Y-yeah,” he cleared his throat, “You’d fit right in.”

Wade held his gaze, before snorting and shoving the mask back on. The moment between them passed.

“Sure, kid.”

Peter scowled. Great, another to add to the growing list of people who called him ‘kid’. He was an adult for god sakes! 

“It was a pleasure, Mr. Wilson,” Tony Stark bowed slightly but refrained from sticking out his hand as was his usual manner, “I hope to see you tonight.” He picked up his seemingly forgotten shot glass, clinked it softly with Wade’s, then downed it entirely with a tip of his head. He set the empty glass back on the sticky bar top, slapped change down to pay, then turned Peter around with hands on his shoulders. With Mr. Stark’s guiding hands, they made their way back the way they’d come not mere five minutes ago.

It was only his heightened hearing that allowed Peter to catch Wade’s late response, muttered with disdain, “Yeah, right.”

Wade Winston Wilson wasn’t in the business of giving a fuck anymore. 

It was hard to wake up in the mornings with anything on his mind other than the crushing feeling of pain; not just from his torturously scarred skin and the cancer thrumming around inside of him, but the painful numbness brewing in his heart. Nothing else was worth caring about since the war, since his mutation, since those last years of normalcy, since _Vanessa—_

He slipped the mask up over his nose and downed the shot the circus man had left behind. He wasn’t one to waste good booze, even if it didn’t do much for him these days. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, ice melting away in his barely-touched drink, as he replayed the brief encounter on repeat in his head.

This Stark guy’s offer was a damn joke; parading around their differences like it would get people to change their damn judgemental minds. More like so everyone could just point and stare and laugh. He got that enough just walking through town, and that was _with_ his mask, why did he need an even larger audience for it?

But, _that kid._

He’d had the prettiest damn eyes Wade himself had laid his own on since Van—

No. Not going there. He shook his head.

They were like darkened honey, even in the shitty lighting of a dump like this. And so _earnest_. He had genuinely seemed to think Wade would fit in with their crew. What, just because he looked like swiss cheese?

Fuck it, Wade thought, it didn’t hurt to play devil’s advocate though, right?

He couldn’t say much was keeping him there. He did a few odd jobs around town from those who weren’t afraid to hire a quiet man covered head to toe, and often sat at the bar for hours at a time; alone and lost in thoughts of the past, because his future was too depressing to live in. And those were _good_ days. The bad days…. Well, those got a tad too morbid to admit.

“It wouldn’t hurt to go check out the freak show, maybe grab some peanuts on my way out,” he muttered to himself. It wasn’t like he had much planned tonight other than to head home and maybe quell the thoughts in his head long enough to sleep a few winks tonight.

“It’s not like I have much else to lose.”

He made to stand, before considering maybe he should grab a secondary opinion.

“What do you think, Weasel,” he asked the bartender, hoping for some insight. He’d only been in the town for a year, but he was a frequent patron of the establishment and so they’d had their fair share of brief discussions in the past, “Freak show or bust?”

Perhaps mostly filled with grunts or one word answers, but still. He was the closest thing to a friend Wade had at the moment.

The bartender raised an eyebrow, glanced down at Wade’s drink, and asked, “You gonna pay for that?”

Wade rolled his eyes, rifling through his pockets for some money to slap on the bar, and said sarcastically, “Thanks for the advice.”

Weasel shook his head, wiping at a spot on the bar with a rag, and said sagely, “Listen, you’re gonna be a freak no matter what, right?”

Wade couldn’t even be pissed at the statement, because it was true. He wasn’t disillusioned at his truth, it just _was._ This was how his life was now, for better or for worse. _Never for better_ , he thought, _always far far worse._

“Where would you rather be a freak,” Weasel asked Wade, “here or there?” He shrugged again like it didn’t seem to matter either way to him— it was his default action for most things, he’d noticed.

Wade, not bothering to respond to a question he wasn’t sure of the answer to yet, just turned around and left. He had plenty of time to figure it out before the show would start.

That also meant he had plenty of time to talk himself out of going.


	2. Chapter 2

They were heading towards the middle of the show when Charles found Mr. Stark.

“Hey Boss,” he called, his gait careful as he walked up to Tony. “New guy decided to show up after all.”

Tony, still dressed in his red and gold Ringleader outfit, grinned. Son of a bitch, they’d done it. 

Peter had asked him on the ride back if he thought Wade would show up.

“I’m not sure, kid,” Tony had responded honestly. Wade had been a hard man to read. “I hope so.”

Peter glanced down, wringing his fingers together.

“Me too,” he’d admitted quietly.

“Where’s he at,” Tony asked Charles, hoping he had enough time to convince Wade before he had to go back on and close the show.

“Over by the main ticket booth,” he told him, before moving along. His act was coming up shortly. 

Tony passed through the maze that was the back of the tent, which also extended partly along the sides. The front of the tent was enormously huge; it housed the main part of where the show took place, as well as all the seats their audience sat and watched upon. The very back of the tent was where they got themselves together; it was their dressing room, lounge, warm up stage, anything and everything you needed before you set foot out front. Which meant it was far too small and often in disarray.

Tony tripped over a rather large prop, oofing as he ran into Steve. 

“Sorry, Tony!” Steve apologized, bending to grab at his shield, hefting it easily up and away along his back. 

Tony waved him off, smiling, but kept going. He didn’t have time for talk right now; not many of them did depending on the timing of the lineup. Steve and Bucky were named the Super Soldiers. They did an act that included throwing knives and shields at targets, and occasionally at each other; they were often cast as opponents in their act, but it was quite the opposite in reality. They’d already finished their run, so they were just waiting until they were due back on stage towards the end of the show.

Tony hurried along. He didn’t want to give Wade time to overthink his decision and turn back.

Finally reaching an exit, Tony grabbed at the seam in the tent, lifted it up and exited into the breezy summer night. He wasn’t far now from the main ticket booth, and with the crowd being seated and enthralled by their show, it was easy to navigate through the vacant outdoors. 

He passed by one booth, a game designed to knock down bottles by way of throwing a baseball, and another filled with small toys children often begged their parents to buy, then he cut a right to head up front. He could see Wade standing awkwardly in the shadow cast by the glow of the torches they had up around the area. They used them at night for light, reserving the electricity from the generators to power the lights inside for the show. 

“Wade,” Tony called, “Delighted to see you took me up on my offer.”

Wade turned, giving Tony a once over as he approached, before saying, “Nice get up.”

Tony clasped him on the shoulder, giving a light squeeze, and said, “I can get you one.”

Wade shook his head, “You’re moving a little too fast for me, Stark. I'm a take-it-slow kind of gal.”

Tony chuckled. Jokes, he could do jokes. Wade seemed like he was in a much better mood than the one he had been in at the bar. He hoped that would play in his favor of persuading him to join them.

“Come on.” Tony waved him to follow. 

Tony was a tad bit disappointed to see that Wade had shown up covered like earlier. Admittedly he had changed into nicer clothing, so he must have wanted to impress a little, but the mask and gloves remained on.

Tony took them to the flap he had just exited, but before he lifted it to take them into the back, to show just what this was all about, he told him quietly, “You don’t have to hide here.”

Wade tensed up at the words.

“I would never make you take it off,” Tony reassured, “but don’t believe the lie that you have to hide your face.”

Without waiting for a reply Tony lifted the flap, the brightness of the lights and colors reflecting in Wade’s eyes.

“You never have to hide here.”

Wade had never seen such a chaotic colorful place in his life. Everywhere he looked there were outrageous props, bright clothes, costumed people, even a few decked out animals. There was a horse dressed up like a unicorn, and a small part inside him, a part remaining from _before_ , gushed.

Thankfully he was wearing his mask, so no one was able to see the expressions flitting across his face.

“This is the back of our big top tent, where we get ready for shows, change, and the like,” Mr. Stark explained, navigating him through the jumble of people getting ready and some just coming off their acts. There were people lounging, laughing, helping each other to change into or out of certain outfits.

Two sweaty women, one with beautiful red hair and pale porcelain skin, the other with outrageously pink hair and skin the color of rich caramel, were chatting just up ahead of them. They were passing a glass of cold water back and forth.

“Nat, Anne,” Tony stopped in front of them, and gestured to Wade, “I’d like to introduce you to Wade Wilson.”

They both inclined their heads. If they thought it was odd to be talking to someone in a mask, they certainly didn’t show it. 

“Nat comes from Russia with a background we haven’t fully cracked yet,” he winked at Wade, continuing, “and Anne’s from Mississippi. Hence their accents, but they both got scouted up in New York.”

Wade wasn’t one for handshakes, and it seemed the girls weren’t up for offering them as they just smiled and welcomed him.

“They’re part of our Trapeze group, along with WD, Anne’s brother, and Peter. You met him earlier today with me.”

“He’s still on, Tony,” Anne said, gesturing back to the circus arena, “We practiced extending his part, like you suggested, you might want to take a peek.”

Tony ushered Wade over to one of the exits leading to the main stage; they had several along the back to enter from.

“Peter’s a mutant,” Tony explained, holding the flap back slightly so they could both see the show playing out before the audience, “he has extraordinary abilities that make him great at flipping, jumping, sticking to things,” he laughed, “you name it.”

Wade shifted closer, and what he saw on stage took his breath away.

Peter was in the middle of doing an aerial hoop act, which he normally did with Anne, but they’d wanted to play up some of his mutant abilities and therefore let him solo tonight to see how it would go. From the bated breath of the audience, he had them captivated.

It seemed if, in some moments, Peter barely had a grip on the hoop. He had himself in a one handed stand inside the hoop, which was spinning slowly, before maneuvering himself into a complete split between the circle, as it spun faster. He then slipped one leg out of the split to hang down toward the ground, hand coming back behind him to grip the hoop, while the other pointed forward. It slowed the hoop significantly, and the lights behind him illuminated his silhouette.

“That pose is called the [half angel](http://thecircusdictionary.com/moves/1211/half-angel/),” Stark murmured, as if Wade gave a shit what it was called; he was just amazed the man could _do_ something like that. 

The crowd gasped as suddenly Peter let go, looking as if he slipped, and Wade stepped forward. Tony held out an arm to stop him just as Peter maneuvered his body into an impressive flip and landed softly. _Too_ softly for a fall from that height.

The crowd went deafening with their applause, and Tony let the flap draw closed just as Wade saw him continue with a series of crazy backflips.

“I don’t want to exploit the unusualness of the people here,” he explained, “I want to highlight it, draw from it, accentuate it, so that I can make the world see a vision of the one I see.”

Wade felt that Stark was a fantasist, but he could see the intentions behind the show he put on here was sincere. It still didn’t make him want to parade around barefaced.

He was just about to say as much when a woman in a plum purple gown wearing a flower crown walked by; she also happened to have a full thick beard. _Envy thy name is Wade_ , he thought, mouth agape behind the mask.

“Lettie, darling, you look ravishing as usual,” Tony flattered.

She hit him in the arm with her folded up fan.

“I’d like you to meet Wade Wilson,” Tony gestured to the man next to him.

“My lady,” Wade greeted, tipping an imaginary hat at her.

He wasn’t sure where this loosened side of himself was coming from, but it felt nice and right for the time being, so why the hell not?

She laughed, and he, too, fell victim to the sharp smack of her fan.

“Flatterers, both of you.” She eyed Wade for a moment before saying, “You don’t have to live in the shadows anymore, honey. Believe me, I know how that goes. There’s a place for us here.”

For some reason he had the strongest feeling _here_ didn’t just mean Mr. Stark’s circus.

He ducked his head, eyes suspiciously wet. What the hell, did Stark make sure they were all in on the recruit Wade brigade?

“Lettie?” a voice called from farther away, and she turned her head to wave her fan at them in a signal to wait a moment.

“You’ll never want to go back,” she told him gently, fan rested against her chest, “Not once you realize there’s more to you than that.”

“Lettie!” the voice called more impatiently and Lettie sighed exasperatedly.

“Sorry, duty calls!” She winked at both of them, then said, “Pleasure to meet you, Wade.”

They watched her sashay away before Tony turned to him and offered, “You’re free to watch the remaining acts of the show, if you’d like. It’s what I asked you to come for, afterall, but if you want to mill about back here, no one will bite. Except maybe the camel. Watch out for that bastard,” he warned, laughing.

Wade was about to answer when the flap they’d been standing by opened with a flourish, smacking Tony before it fell back closed.

Wade felt something collide with his chest, and the breath left his body in a sharp exhale at the power behind it. He caught the spinning object in his arms, looking down to see a mop of unruly brown hair curled between his arms.

Peter looked up from under his lashes at Wade, and _oh, honey, there were those eyes._

The blush that settled on Peter’s face was almost as pretty.

Peter’s hands settled themselves along Wade’s pecs, but the young man didn’t seem to notice as he gazed up into the eyes behind the mask. 

“You showed up,” he breathed, “does that mean you’re considering it?”

Wade didn’t know what to say to that, still caught up in the close proximity of Peter’s lithe body. He hadn't had a body pressed so close to his since—

“We certainly hope so,” the amusement in Stark’s voice was evident.

“And what is your act, Mr. Wilson?” Peter asked, playfully serious.

“I-,” Did his voice sound husky? Wade cleared his throat behind the mask, “I don’t have an act.”

“Everyone’s got an act,” he smirked mischievously up at Wade.

The two were so focused on each other, they missed the incredulous eyebrow raise from Tony.

He didn’t give Wade time to think of a clever response (there wouldn’t have been enough time anyway, he’d later reason) before twirling out of his arms. He threw one last glance over his shoulder at Wade before flouncing away; the fabric of his costume billowing after him. 

Tony’s face was set in a deep smirk when Wade’s eyes finally focused back on him.

“Let’s go to my office,” Tony suggested, “I think we’ve got stuff to talk about.”

 _Yeah,_ Wade thought, following Tony, _I think we do._

Peter was changed out of his costume and off to find something to help clean up or disassemble for the night when he ran into Wade. Thankfully not literally this time.

“Wade,” he greeted warmly. He hadn’t been sure if the taller man would stick around till the end of the show, although a part of him had hoped.

He wasn’t sure why the man evoked those kinds of thoughts and reactions from him, but it wasn’t wholly unpleasant. 

“Peter,” he greeted back, a little less warm but still friendly.

“Have we wow’d you enough to come to a decision?” Peter teased, but when Wade’s hand came up to awkwardly rub the back of his head through the mask, he felt like he’d put his foot in his mouth.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—” 

“The show was amazing. _You_ were amazing,” he admitted.

Wade paused for a moment, perhaps struggling with what he wanted to say next. Peter gave him the time to figure it out, and just hoped it would mean they’d get to see each other again.

He glanced at Peter, then away, before saying, “I may not buy into all this,” he gestured around the clearing with a gloved hand.

“But I want to,” he finished quietly, as if admitting it outloud to the world would cause it to be snatched away.

Peter gave a small smile at that and told him, “I’m glad you do.”

Peter wanted everyone like them to feel free; he felt like he was walking outside a cage, others still trapped inside, swinging a key. He wanted to give them all that very same key to escape, to feel what he felt daily.

Tony jogged up to them, breathing a little too hard.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologized, “Here’s the paperwork I want you to look over, just bring it back in the next couple days.”

Peter’s eyes lit up, “So that means—!”

“Mr. Wilson here will be joining us tentatively for the rest of the week while we’re in town. A job shadow, if you will. I asked him to give us a chance, and he graciously agreed.”

And in the middle of the night, with darkness creeping in on all sides, Wade saw the sun in the smile Peter gave him.

“I just know you’re gonna love us,” Peter promised.

 _Yeah_ , Wade thought once again, funny feeling in his chest, _that’s the problem._

Wade left shortly after Mr. Stark gave him those papers, declining a ride home, with a promise he’d arrive early tomorrow to help out. Tony assured him he didn’t have to, but Wade had just shrugged and muttered about not having much else to do.

Peter himself had found something to do in packing away any food they had left over in one of the booths. Not good to keep that kind of stuff lying around; it always attracted unwanted critters.

“So,” Tony’s voice popped up from his left, “what was _that_ all about?”

Peter glanced sideways out of the corner of his eye, but otherwise kept on task.

He hummed in question.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Tony teased, “you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

When Peter didn’t deign to answer, Tony brought clasped hands up and mocked in a falsetto,

“Mr. Big Muscles, what’s your act?”

Even in the silver of moonlight, most of the torches having long burnt out, Peter’s bright blush was visible.

Tony laughed, “Kid, I’ve never seen you act like that. Not even on stage.”

“I was just excited he showed up,” Peter muttered defensively. A part of him bristled at Tony’s teasing, even though it was harmless. Usually Peter could roll with the punches, but there was something small deep in his heart that felt protective over what Tony was saying. He wanted to cover it, guard it, and hide it away from anyone to see. It felt a little like a seed finally taking bloom through soil after a long time of patiently watching and waiting. 

Tony had always been good at reading Peter, though, and stopped his good-natured ribbing. Well, mostly.

They stood in silence for a moment, only the sounds of clean-up echoing across the clearing and the thrum of cicadas in the trees.

“He’s going to need someone to help him get used to the ropes around here,” Tony said suddenly, “and I don’t mean _your_ kind of ropes. He isn’t quite ready to be out in the limelight yet.”

Peter laughed at that, “Most aren’t ready for _my type_ of ropes.”

“Hey, maybe he'll be into that later,” Tony winked, and there went the warmth in Peter’s face again, “but what I’m trying to say is, maybe you can help him out. There’s clearly something there.” The last sentence was said softly, just for them to hear.

Peter didn’t deny it.

“Let him get used to our circus life, if that’s what he so chooses, and it’ll give you time to get to know him.”

Peter looked up at the other man, thankful and so very lucky to have someone in his life that understood him so well. Tony could be the most thoughtful person.

“Then who knows what may happen.” Tony waggled his eyebrows.

He could also be the most infuriating.

“Go,” Peter swatted at him, laughing, “be gone with you. Some of us are trying to work here.”

Tony walked away, calling over his shoulder, “He’ll be here near dawn tomorrow, make sure you don’t sleep in!”

Peter stuck his tongue out at the retreating back petulantly. 

He’d make sure he was up long before the sun decided to be, that was for sure.


	3. Chapter 3

Peter, in all honesty, barely slept that night.

He tossed and turned even when he did finally manage to close his eyes against his thoughts and fall asleep, but kept waking up in panic thinking he’d slept in and missed Wade. It was an irrational fear, because even if he _did_ sleep in, Wade was planning to spend the day with them; there would be plenty of time for them to spend together.

He blushed at the thought. He very much wanted to spend time with Wade. 

He was intriguing to Peter. Not just because he was covered up better than a Christmas present, but because there was so much sadness and hurting radiating from the man, yet he was clearly a kind soul. Perhaps a tad closed off and ill-tempered, but, to be honest, most of them had been before Tony found them. 

They were used to hiding themselves away, or keeping themselves small and inconspicuous. Never truly allowing themselves to open up to anyone in fear of hatred, judgement, or rejection. Wouldn’t that kind of life make anyone miserable?

But everyone who joined up with Stark flourished into their true selves along the way. That didn’t mean they were all happy and perfect every minute. Some of them were still withdrawn and silent (like Bucky, even if Steve was one of the rare few who could wrestle a belly laugh out of him), or Charles who used sarcasm and insults second-naturedly. But no one hid, not anymore; even those parts of themselves.

Peter wanted to find and experience that part of Wade. He knew it was in there somewhere.

So, with Peter being more awake than not, at least it meant he wouldn’t accidentally sleep in again. He’d be yawning throughout the day, certainly, and maybe have dark bags under his eyes, but at least he’d be up long before the sun.

He stretched, rising from his small cot and makeshift nest of blankets, and changed for the day. He threw on a red long sleeved shirt, rolling the sleeves up to his forearms due to the predicted heat of the impending day. Then grabbed his light brown britches and put those on too. They were his least torn pair. He normally didn’t wear them for anything other than special occasions, but, well. He could admit, to himself at least, that he was dressing to impress just a little.

Plus, he thought as he buttoned the top button, they were his snuggest pair. He wouldn't even have to wear his suspenders to help hold them up. The girls also had told him once, when they’d been celebrating someone’s birthday under the stars and the alcohol had been flowing, that they made his ass look fantastic.

Hey, he’d take all the help he could get.

Peter climbed out of the wagon and searched around for his shoes. It was always a struggle in the mornings when the sun had yet to rise, damn his inability to keep them together. When he found the second one behind the wagon’s wheel, he slipped them on, straightened, and made towards the entrance. It wouldn’t hurt to wait around for Wade up there, he could help get the tickets and paperwork ready for their show this afternoon. 

They didn’t always have midday shows, but the population was higher in these parts. Several towns were just within a handful of miles from them, and they sold out quickly because of it. So, when they were in the places that could make it worthwhile, they put on more than one show a day.

As he walked on he realized someone had already lit a few torches, and a warm flickering light sprawled over the circus encampment. The sun would be rising soon, and the sky would bleed out into a beautiful bright day, but for now the fire was needed.

He passed a few people along the way; Bucky and Steve hammering away at a loose board on one of the platforms they used before their show. It was used to stand on and interact with the audience so those who wanted to get a closer look, or even talk to them, could. Clint, otherwise known as The Hawk’s Eye, sat cross-legged on a large stump, mending a few of his arrows while watching Natasha set up a booth. 

He waved across the clearing as he spied Wanda, their Scarlet Witch, tending to the animals. He didn’t see her brother Pietro but he couldn’t be far. They called him Quicksilver, because he could move faster than a freshly shot bullet, and was as smart as a whip. They were never caught without the other and both preferred the animals they were often taking care of. She smiled and waved back to him before resuming her task of dishing out food; even the animals needed their breakfast.

His stomach growled at the thought of food, and he resolved to make his way over to where the delicious smell was wafting from later on. Maybe Wade would be hungry, too, and they could grab something together before the day started. 

He got held up for a moment as someone asked him to crawl up and help center a sign that had fallen askew during the night, but he was off again soon after with a thanks and a pat on the back.

No one had made their way up front yet, it seemed, and Wade hadn’t arrived, so he started on the task of organizing everything for when the crowd started trickling in. They kept the tickets organized by child and adult, as the prices were a tad different, and a list of how many people they’d sold to; as to not oversell a show. Tony would come by later with whoever would be taking ticket sales, and a small lockbox of money to take change. This would, of course, be someone who was not in any sort of act. The circus took all types to run smoothly; it wasn’t just filled with those who had the talent of drawing eyes. 

If Peter was honest, they wouldn’t have lasted very long if it was just those who stepped on stage running things around here. 

They had a small group of band players for the music they incorporated into the show, who also happened to be amazing cooks, a carpenter, and a few handymen, as well. They even had a doctor, Doctor Bruce Banner, for the inevitable accidents that took place in the chaotic way of circus life. Bruce was a mutant himself, but didn’t talk much about it to anyone other than Tony, who had made an agreement to take him on as practitioner of medicine but never an act. He was a very zen individual, and a great listener. Peter found his presence incredibly soothing, and he was a welcomed addition to their growing crew. 

Peter must have been so lost in his thoughts, focused on the task in front of him, that his senses didn’t even register a person approaching the booth he sat in until they were right in front of him.

“You’re the ticket salesman, too,” an amused voice observed, and Peter’s head snapped up, “I’ll take one, please.”

_Wade._

Not much was changed about the man from yesterday that he could see. He was still in dark colors, long sleeves tucked into gloves and mask firmly intact. If he truly meant to help out today, he was going to be sweltering in that get up as the sun rose high in the afternoon sky.

“Good morning,” Peter greeted after a beat; he’d been staring. He knew he’d been staring. God, he hoped Wade hadn’t noticed, “and your money’s no good here, I’ll give it to you free.” He didn’t dare wink, but he wanted to. What was this man _doing_ to him?

Wade chuckled a “Good morning, Peter” back at him and a shiver went down his spine at hearing his name fall off those hidden lips. 

Peter tucked what he’d been doing safely away, as he’d practically finished anyway. He’d take Wade to Tony, see if there was anything specific he wanted Peter to show the other man, and then they could snag some food. The smell had been slowly permeating the air as the morning stretched on, and his mouth watered just thinking about it. 

Peter stepped out of the booth, nodding his head to indicate Wade to follow him and the man obeyed; falling in step with Peter as he walked them to where he’d most likely find Tony. Peter couldn’t help but notice how the man practically towered over him as they walked side by side.

Tony, having full faith in his staff and friends to get the circus up and running, was most likely busy in his office.

They called it an office mostly for Tony’s sake. It was really just a closed off part of the back that had a small desk and several chairs; it was where Tony did his daily number crunches and other business related things. At any given moment, though, someone could be occupying the space for something else; to change, to do their hair, to lounge around. The one time he’d even found Bucky and Steve toget—

Peter hadn’t realized he’d been thinking aloud as they walked, filling the silence with his rambling, and blushed as his mouth snapped shut. He hadn’t meant to talk so much, or even bring up that last bit. It wasn’t something Steve and Bucky advertised, for obvious reasons, and he wasn’t sure what Wade would think.

Everyone here at the circus had the same mindset: they had enough judgement in their lives, so they wouldn’t be passing it amongst themselves. As long as everyone involved was consenting and happy, there wasn’t much else for anyone to worry about. Still, guilt churned in his belly. He felt in his gut he could trust Wade, but he wasn’t sure if Bucky and Steve had even met Wade yet. He shouldn’t be bringing up something that wasn’t his to share.

Wade chuckled slightly, oblivious to Peter’s inner turmoil, and said, “Yes, I saw Stark’s ‘office’ yesterday. He had to fling a few intimates off his desk, which knocked over a pot of ink in the skirmish.”

Peter laughed, guilt abating in humors stead, “Yes, the girls do tend to take over any and every inch they can back there. I’m not surprised. I guess that’s why he came running up late with your papers last night.”

“Yup,” Wade agreed, popping the p, and Peter wished he could see those lips behind the mask again, “They’d gotten spilled on, so he’d drafted up new ones.”

They walked on for a few more paces, Peter gathering the courage to ask, “Have you...taken a look at them yet?”

Blue eyes glanced his way, then back down to his boots kicking up dust as he walked, “Not yet.”

Unfortunately that seemed to kill the slowly growing banter, silence hanging between them. Peter could have kicked himself for prying. He didn’t want to spook Wade away on the first official day!

They entered through a side entrance off the tent, Peter ducking under the flap Wade had grabbed and lifted before Peter could himself; Peter tucked a pleased smile into his shoulder. Without the chaotic movement before or during a show, the back just looked still and cluttered with things thrown and chucked all over the place. They all had a rather organized chaos to how they prepared and got ready before a show; it may have looked crazy but they all knew where their stuff was. 

Wade was busy taking it all in as they walked the path towards where Peter was hoping Tony would be. His gaze wandered from the stage costumes hung up, to the many props and decorations laying about. It may not have seemed as magical without the hustle and bustle thrown in, but it was still eye catching in its calmness. 

Tony was pretty predictable, so when they arrived he was indeed sitting, looking rather harried, at his cluttered desk; papers and the like sprawled across every available surface. His attention was brought to them as they entered, and he gave them a blinding smile; most likely fueled by the fact Wade had indeed shown up as promised.

“Morning, fellas,” Tony said warmly, “to what do I owe the pleasure?” He shuffled a few things around on his desk, then propped his elbows up, hands cradling his chin.

“Well,” Peter began awkwardly, “I just wondered if there was anything specific you, uh, thought we should do today?” Oh god, he sounded like he had no idea what the hell he was doing. Wade was probably wondering why he was shacked up with someone so clueless.

Tony hid a small smile behind his hands knowingly; he knew Peter well enough to see the panic brewing in his eyes. He’d never seen the kid get ruffled quite so easily. _This was going to be interesting_ , Tony thought, amused.

“I’m glad you stopped by, actually. I wanted to talk to you,” Tony said, gaze fixed on Peter.

“Me?” Peter blinked, confused.

Tony nodded, “I noticed last night that a stage light is out on the top front row panel; I was wondering if maybe you wouldn’t mind crawling up there and replacing it for me?”

Peter accepted without hesitation. He often helped with those kinds of tasks, as it was much easier for him to go climbing around at those heights than anyone else.

Tony hum, pleased, “Good, I’m sure Wade wouldn’t mind helping you out. Why don’t you two grab breakfast if you haven’t already, then worry about that. I have some spare bulbs in a trunk in one of the wagons, I’m afraid I don’t remember which one.”

“That’s okay, Mr. Stark,” Peter reassured, glad to have a task to focus on, “We’ll find it and have it fixed before the show, no worries.”

“I never worry, kid.” 

Peter rolled his eyes at that. Yeah, right.

“Wade,” Tony moved his focus to the man that had been standing silently through their exchange, “Feel free to hop in and do whatever you feel comfortable with while you’re here. Beyond that, there’s not much else I need from you. I want you to get a feel for what goes on around here, and honestly, I’m just glad you showed up.”

“I’m all about meeting low expectations,” Wade quipped self-deprecatingly. 

Tony laughed, “Yeah, well, don’t get used to them. If you decide to join our ragtag crew, you’ll have a long list of things required from you. I myself have a very similar list, and barely anything checked off, so I bid you both _adieu._ ”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter waved Tony away as they turned to leave, “I know a cue when I see one. See ya!”

Tony hummed, already buried back into his work as he waved back absentmindedly. 

With a direction to go in now that Tony had given him a task, Peter’s chest felt lighter. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous about impressing Wade, but he was; and there was no better way to do that than show off his skills, so he couldn’t wait to show the man what he could do.

But, first, _breakfast_.

Breakfast was a hectic affair most days. They had quite a crew to feed, and three times a day no less. If you didn’t come in time, you usually wound up with scraps or nothing at all. So it was often a dog-eat-dog world around chow time.

Add in a new-comer? Forget about it. They were honed in on Wade faster than flies on shit.

Peter loaded up their plates, not going far but still guiltily leaving the other man alone for a brief minute. Wade had politely declined breakfast, but Peter didn’t want to be a bad host. So he’d just gotten a second helping of whatever he was having for the man.

Peter nudged at Charles sharply, who had managed to wedge himself right next to Wade, to scoot down. Charles muttered under his breath about just tryin’ to be friendly but shuffled down obligingly. 

Peter set the full plate down in front of Wade.

“The faster we eat,” Peter muttered out the side of his mouth, “the faster we can escape these busy-bodies.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Charles poked Peter hard in the soft spot under his ribs. He was good at finding the tender places because he was always at the perfect height to reach them. 

“So very sorry, _General_ ,” Peter teased, digging into his eggs.

Charles sniffed, “You better be, flop-doodle. And don’t go hogging the newbie, you’re not the only one who can be welcoming here.”

Peter glanced at the others chatting around the table, at the way they were attempting to look casual, but he could tell they were eager to know more about the stranger seated with them.

Peter sighed and said, “Alright, everyone, this is Wade. He’s here to see if his crazy matches our crazy.”

“Oh, honey,” Lettie walked by fanning herself already, damn this insufferable heat, “nothing matches the crazy here, but it’s welcome all the same.” 

She smiled knowingly and continued on.

Everyone started talking excitedly at once; introducing themselves while explaining their acts and various roles around the circus. He cringed faintly at the sharp ache between his eyes as his senses tried to focus on each different person talking. He’d gotten used to it, working in an overly crowded environment daily helped with that, but in close proximities like this it still sometimes bothered him.

He glanced over at Wade, who still hadn’t touched his food, and— _dammit._ Peter could have slapped himself. Wade’s mask held no spot for him to eat with it on, and he didn’t exactly look comfortable lifting it up for all the eyes on him to see.

Walter, otherwise known as Dog Boy, was in the middle of ribbing a blushing Lord of Leeds next to him about the time the pillow he stuffed in his shirt exploded and feathers floated down around him while he was dancing on stage.

The chuckle from Wade was genuine, as far as Peter could tell, and everyone else laughed uproariously as the blushing man turned further red. But Peter could see how tense Wade was holding himself, as if not completely comfortable in the current setting.

Peter could fix that.

He cleared his throat and said, “Sorry guys, I just remembered Mr. Stark asked us to do something, and if we stay here listening to you all gab on we’ll be here for ages.”

His announcement was met with a few grumbles, and a snarky remark from Charles.

He stood from the table, grabbing his plate and silverware. Wade, without being told, did the same.

He could tell by their disappointed faces that they hadn’t expected their departure so soon, and everyone said their goodbyes. Others telling Wade it was nice to have met him.

The taller man cleared his throat awkwardly and said, “Uh, pleasure to meet you all, too.”

With that Peter bid them goodbye and took the path over to the wagon where he was pretty sure Tony kept the spare stage equipment. 

They were too far away for Wade to possibly hear, but Peter heard Charles comment as if he was still sitting next to him at the table,

“Alright, bets now open on how long it takes our little spider to climb him like a tree.”

He was glad to be trailing a few steps in front of Wade, so as the other man wouldn’t see his flaming face.

When they reached the wagon, Peter turned around and began apologizing profusely. 

“I'm _so_ sorry, I didn’t even think— I wasn’t trying to— You don’t have to eat if you don’t feel comfortable,” he stammered out, trying to apologize, explain himself, and reassure all at once.

Wade just plopped himself down on the edge of the wagon and muttered, “It’s fine.”

Peter joined him, “It’s not. I should have listened when you said no. I-I was just trying—”

Wade cut him off.

“I know. What you were trying to do. It’s just…

“I haven’t had that many people focus on me in a long while. At least not of the good sort.”

Peter's heart panged within his chest. 

Peter had had a rough start in life, sure. He’d lost people close to him, but those people had loved him dearly. He’d never been ostracized due to his mutation. Mostly because most people never knew he had one, and he hadn’t been born with it, anyway.

Plus, he was bendy and flippy and strong, _sure_ , but those were things normal people could be, too, with a little practice. Maybe he did things that made eyebrows raise in disbelief, in wonderment, but because they couldn’t really _see_ it, they didn’t _think_ it. He got lumped into the prejudice for simply being associated with the circus, not for his actual mutation. 

But Wade… 

It’d been different for him, clearly. Peter wasn’t sure if he was born that way but he’d take a guess the other man hadn’t always looked like that. He was withdrawn, defensive, and tense; even with those around him who’d accept him no matter what. It reflected on the self-image Wade held for himself. The need to keep himself hidden away despite not needing to. 

Peter didn’t know what to say to Wade’s confession that wouldn’t sound patronizing and cheesy; so he just tucked back into his cooling breakfast silently. 

He wanted to say all the positive and heartfelt things to Wade. They were all pretty good at being uplighting and affirmative around here; they didn’t _always_ have good days. So when one of them was too into their own head, or having a bad day, someone was there to get them through it.

Who did Wade have, when he had those days?

He tried to glance subtly to the larger man. Wade still hadn’t taken a bite to eat, and Peter tried not to take it too personally. They were all still essentially strangers to Wade. He remembered his own first weeks at the circus, how quiet and cautious he was. Wade was allowed to have those same thoughts and feelings, too.

Even if Peter wanted to show him he didn’t have to. At least not with him.

Peter finished his plate and put it aside, but was surprised when Wade’s was gently nudged into his hands.

Peter gave him a questioning look.

“I figure it’d be a waste... and I’m sure you’ll need it with all that impressive jumpin’ and twirlin’ you do.”

Peter ducked his head, trying to hide the pleased smile spreading across his face.

“Thanks,” Peter said, grateful. It wasn’t often his stomach felt full and satisfied.

“Don’t mention it.”

Wade sat silently, waiting for Peter to finish eating.

He’d felt overwhelmed and out of his element since arriving. A part of him felt like he’d never get used to it here, that this place didn’t need someone like him milling about. What did he have to offer but a marred up face and a tragic backstory? 

He couldn’t imagine himself sharing funny stories around a warm breakfast, and he had no special talents other than the ones the war had bestowed on him; he was almost positive _those_ wouldn’t be welcome here.

He had _one_ ability. Or rather, inability. To die. Sure, he could cut off his arm as the audience watched it grow back, but somehow Wade had a feeling that act wouldn’t get the same nod of approval as the others.

So why’d he even tell Stark he’d consider his proposal?

He knew why, and he’d just handed the reason his breakfast.

Ever since that first meeting the kid made him _feel_ things. He’d felt nothing but equal amounts of pain and numbness since Van— since before. But that kid walked in and called him _handsome_ and gave him those doe eyes and…

It felt like walking through an endless desert before being given a drop of water; you didn’t care how much farther you had to walk as long as you could have more. 

Wade _craved_ more. He wanted to _taste_. 

He had no idea what he had to offer this place, not one bit. But dammit, he wasn’t sure he could go back through that desert. Not alone.

The clink of empty plates drew Wade back to the present.

Peter had set the plates aside and crawled up into the back of the wagon. He was rifling through chests before he made a small hum of satisfaction. He crawled back down, holding the bulb triumphantly before declaring,

“Let’s go change a light bulb.”

The inside of the big top tent was _huge_. That hadn’t changed since last night when Wade had been there, of course, but without all the acts and their movement, without the audience filling the seats, it felt almost cavernous.

Peter and Wade were the only ones in the tent at the moment, but voices could be heard not far off. The hustle and bustle of the circus was still going strong as they prepared for their show to go on in a few hours’ time.

The red and white tent was held up by a dozen or so large wooden pillars set up in ways as to not hinder any acts. Some were nestled farther apart and across from each other, jutting up from in between the seats of the audience on all sides, closer to the edges of the tent. The others were farther inward, still across from each other, just outside of the center ring where the acts played out. Smaller lights were strung and looped around the tent’s curved top and down those very pillars, giving it a whimsical feel; but a few larger stage spotlights were fixed safely high up between the pillars; they could be controlled and maneuvered by someone up there, as it was too high for the crowd to notice down below.

Wade raised his eyebrows under his mask in disbelief. Peter was supposed to get up _there_? 

He assumed the man knew how to use the ropes from his routine in a way to gain access but when the younger man didn’t reach for any, Wade started to wonder.

Peter asked him to hold onto the bulb for a moment as he slipped free of his shoes. 

He followed along as Peter made his way over to the closest pillar, and just...started to climb it.

Wade watched in disbelief as, using only his hands and bare feet, this kid made his way up the smooth pillar. With no hand grips or spots to hold onto, it was as if he was sticking to the surface itself.

Stark’s comment from last night echoed in his head. He really _did_ have some sort of ability to make him an exceptional rather _sticky_ trapeze artist.

Once Peter had reached the top, he crawled onto the light fixture delicately. He was so far up Wade had to crane his neck to see.

“Alright,” Peter shouted down, “Throw up the bulb.”

Wade was confused for a moment before he looked down and realized he still had the light bulb within his gloved hands. He’d been so distracted by Peter, the shape of his ass accentuated in those pants as he’d climbed—

 _Anyway_ , it meant Wade had forgotten all about the damn light bulb. But now Peter wanted him to throw it up?

He had no doubt he could chuck it that far but he was more concerned with Peter catching it. He didn’t want to be the reason something went wrong here, at least not this soon into his visit.

Wade shook his head, “I don’t think so.”

“Come on, Wade!” Peter’s light laughter echoed down to Wade’s ears, “I’ll catch it, don’t worry.”

Wade hesitated, but hearing his name fall from Peter’s lips was chipping away at his resolve.

“Trust me, Wade,” Peter leaned over farther, hands coming out in anticipation, “just throw it up!”

Wade sighed, already a sucker for this kid, and reeled back to chuck the bulb his way.

It went high, that was for sure, but it hadn’t gotten close enough and _shit—_

Wade had known he’d fuck this up. Sure it was just a light bulb but that was _just the beginning._ Eventually they’d see that’s all he did was continually fuck shit up. He had to admit, at least he could say he was good at _something._

He cringed, not wanting to look but not being able to look away at the same time.

Peter was too far, there was no way—

The kid moved almost too quick for Wade to comprehend. It was as if he’d anticipated where it would go, as he was now crouched on the railing of the lights; it swayed ever so lightly at his movement. Peter kept his legs planted firmly, _impossibly_ , on the railing as he stretched himself out and caught the bulb easily in both hands. Then, easy as you please, leaned back and over the railing to change the light fixture.

Wade’s jaw was starting to ache from hanging in awe.

This kid could _defy_ gravity, it seemed. 

“Alright,” he heard him say from up above, “All done, coming down now.”

He expected to see another riveting descent down the pillar, but instead Peter just climbed back up atop that railing _yet again_ , this time with the dead bulb tucked in one hand, and flipped off.

Wade was glad no one was around to see his reaction. He was pretty sure his body seized, nearly dying in panic, watching Peter twist his body impressively as he fell. Shit, and Wade had been worried about a damn _light bulb breaking?_ He was about to have to clean Peter up off the floor, and comparatively, _that_ was far worse than a broken light bulb ever could be.

But just as he had the night before, Peter landed near silently on the sand and hay strewn across the floor in a crouched position. One hand on the ground, knees bent, and his head whipped up to give Wade a shit eating grin.

Wade released the breath he’d been holding since Peter had free falled, “You little shit.”

It came out a little too breatheless for Wade’s liking.

Peter laughed as he righted himself, looking pleased.

“Impressive, right?” He toed on his shoes, glancing up at Wade, and the smile he gave the taller man could have outshone the sun.

“Yeah,” Wade agreed, “pretty impressive.”

Wade rubbed at the sudden tightness in his chest; probably just the after effects of him healing from a heart attack.

Yeah, that was it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!! Just popping in to say that this chapter does include a song from The Greatest Showman. Since I'm inept at getting links to work in notes, I've linked it within the story at the point where it's referenced. The actual scene was a huge inspiration towards what I wrote within this chapter. So if you'd like to get a better visual I recommend watching it.
> 
> I hope you all are well and enjoying the story so far! Happy reading!

It wasn’t long after that everyone started to filter into the big top; cleaning up the seats for the crowds, setting up various props, getting the lights ready and in place and just whatever they generally needed done to begin the show.

They’d just finished sweeping off the stands, making sure no one would be sitting in settled dust or food crumbs, when Peter propped the broom up along the side of one and wiped a hand across his brow. With the lights shining and repeatedly moving up and down along the seats they’d both acquired a light sheen of sweat.

Of course, Peter’s could be seen shining across the creamy paleness off his skin. Wade just looked and felt like a used washrag. At this point, he probably smelled like one too.

“I’ve got to go get ready, now,” Peter proclaimed sadly, near pouting, and Wade couldn’t help the twitch of his lips. 

“Go, kid, I’ve got this,” he reassured.

Peter wrinkled his nose, “Don’t call me kid.”

Wade shrugged, “Sure thing, kid.”

Peter rolled his eyes, and said, “You’re going to watch the show, aren’t you?”

He’d only seen the tail end of the show last night, so he figured it wouldn’t hurt to familiarize himself with what Stark had going on here. Plus, he was definitely interested in seeing the acts… 

Peter’s act. The _full_ version.

So Wade gave an answering nod to the question.

First, Peter lit up like a Christmas tree, then a faint blush spread across the bridge of his nose.

“Well, I-I better go get ready,” he stammered, still facing Wade as he walked backwards.

“Break a leg,” Wade called, not knowing the circus equivalent of ‘good luck’. Peter almost backed into the raised circle around the area they performed, but at the last minute turned and jumped over it, just nearly avoiding a fall.

Wade, not for the first time, found himself thinking there was something special about the kid… in more ways than one.

Wade was going to be watching him perform.

Where was a paper bag to hyperventilate into when you needed it?

It’d been two full days since he’d practiced. Which wasn’t abnormal, but he suddenly _needed_ to run through the entire routine. Just to be sure he could do it.

He told Anne as such when he approached her. She was pinning her gorgeous dark hair up so as to make it easier to get her pink wig on.

Anne looked bewildered, “Peter…” she reminded him slowly, “We never practice so soon before a show.”

Peter paced, shaking his hands out as they buzzed with nerves.

“I know, I know,” and he _did_ , “but now I’m forgetting if I go into a triple twisting double before Nat catches me or a full twisting-

“Peter,” she cut him off in her soothing accent, “it doesn’t _matter_ what you throw at us, baby, we will catch you. We’ve done this so many times, it’s muscle memory.”

He exhaled shakily. She was right. They’d even run through their routine blindfolded once, much to Mr. Stark’s chagrin. 

(When he had found out he’d sat them all down and given them the biggest guilt trip in history.

It started with, 

“Do you want to give me a heart attack? You already know how precarious _that_ situation is. Please don’t go helping it along.”

And ended with, “Don’t go putting me in an early grave.”

They’d hung their heads, not even wanting to think about it.)

“Just breathe,” she told him, “and worry about getting all your gear together. We all know how you like to strew things about. You can’t go on naked, you know.”

He blushed just thinking about it, mostly because of _one_ particular audience member in attendance.

He plucked a stray piece of straw from her hair (it was inevitably everywhere) and tickled her ear with it in retaliation before gathering his clothes.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know where there all were, he just didn’t have his pieces all tucked in the same spot. So, as he gathered his costume, he focused on breathing through his panic. He knew his routines forward and backward, he could do it in his sleep. Quite literally, as he often dreamt about it.

So why did it feel like he’d never step foot out on stage before?

There wasn’t much privacy in the circus, but they all gave each other space when needed; so as Anne continued her focus toward her hair, Peter disrobed and changed.

His costume was of red and blue color; the red curved down the front accentuating his torso and abs, while the blue hugged his sides to give him an even more cinched appearance. Embroidered across the fabric was a thin black thread that caught the light in a spider web pattern with a spider itself sitting right along the middle of his chest. He was _The Spider Man_ after all. The material was tight but gave way to movement so as to not hinder his performance; the top was sleeveless so he had full range of motion in his arms, and the snug bottoms hit below thigh for less restriction to his legs.

The other addition to his costume was the extra flowy material around his hips. It was made of a gauzy material and fluttered around him as he flew through the air. It was patterned in the similar spider web pattern, so it looked as if literal webs were flowing behind him as he soared.

He’d helped Tony design it, and with their brains combined had achieved the current costume he now used every show. After it had been made and tailored to Peter, after he’d tried it on for all to see, Tony had whistled and said, “Glad you’ll be flying high _above_ the crowd, because any closer and we may have to beat them off with sticks. _Not_ good for business.” Peter had just covered his blushing face in embarrassment. 

This time, though, he was thankful for his costume. He’d grown confident and free in it, since that first time, but he was also fully aware now of how he _looked_ in it. Tony’s words had embarrassed him, sure, but now he saw what the other man had when he glanced in the mirror.

Peter may never be called large or muscled, fine, but he worked out plenty enough to be called _lithe_ and _sinewy_ ; his arms could lift more than the combination of a dozen men’s, easy, even if they didn’t look it. His thighs may not be thick with muscle but they were strong and lean. His thin shoulders looked frail, but very regularly caught and held the weight of Nat and Anne upon them. His lightly defined pecs trimmed down into a firm narrow waist, and beyond, well. He knew, because he’d been told, that he had an ass worth bouncing quarters off of. _Quarters._

So, while he wasn’t particularly vain, he knew what he looked like and was hoping upon hope Wade would notice, too. Maybe even _like_ it, if he was into that kind of thing. (Peter so very hoped he was into that kind of thing. _Peter_ , being the thing, specifically.)

Once he had his costume on, he ran a shaky hand down the front. Another hand suddenly covered his and his eyes flicked up to meet Anne’s in the half mirror in front of him. She hooked her chin over his shoulder, and the soft pink hair of her wig tickled his cheek.

“What’s got you so worried, little spider?” She gave him a sweet dimpled smile through the mirror.

Peter bit his lip. It wasn’t that he felt like he _couldn't_ say something to her, no one in the circus would judge him based on who he felt attracted to, but… He’d never had anyone who’d made him feel this way before. He didn’t know Wade long, nor well, but he’d felt that thrill since the moment they’d met. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

It felt private and special, and a part of him was scared to talk about it. He didn’t want to jinx it, as if he even believed in that… Yet, best to not take chances. He also didn’t want it getting back to Wade, just yet. The circus had a lot of loud mouths, even if they meant well. Anne wasn’t one, but it was almost as if the circus had ears all around; once one heard, they all heard.

“Does this have anything to do with our newcomer?” She teased, whispering close to his ear. She nuzzled it a bit to get him to laugh, before resuming her tucked position on his shoulder. Anne may have already had a brother, but Peter considered her a sister to him. Anne was younger than WD; as such she had always been looked out for, cared for, protected for by him. Peter was younger than Anne, and he found sometimes that she did the same for him as WD for her. She liked to protect him, guide him, be there for him. Almost as if he was the younger brother she never had.

He loved her all the more for it.

Peter adjusted their hands so he cradled hers across his chest now, and nodded slightly. Still not wanting to give a voice to the words rattling around in his heart. 

She squeezed his chest in a half hug, and whispered, “You go out there and you do what you always do; you wow the crowd. They always love you— _he’s_ going to love you, too.”

She always knew the right things to say, even if deep down he knew life was a little more complicated than that. 

He squeezed her back in a silent thank you, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Let’s go find the rest of our troupe, I know Nat’s going to need help with that hair of hers.”

Wade stuck to the sides of the stands, hidden in their shadows, rather than sat in them. There was an overwhelming amount of people spectating the show, and Wade’s anxiety and alertness skyrocketed. 

He’d never been around this many people before, not including the war, and as such kept himself out of the view of their wandering eyes. He wanted to enjoy the show, not be a part of it; which was often hard when, even covered, people’s attention was drawn to him.

The excitement was palpable, the anxious murmurs of the crowd almost deafening as they waited for the show to begin. Lots of children glanced around in amazement as parents shifted nervously, not knowing that to expect.

Suddenly, lights extinguished and dimmed rendering the tent a near dark abyss. 

A hush fell over the crowd.

“ _[Whoa!](https://youtu.be/EA6apQpDvWc?t=9)” _The word was passionately belted out as the band began playing softly, increasing with each sung word.

“ _Whoa!”_

No hint of light or movement as the singing continued, and even Wade felt the anticipation bubble in the pit of his stomach. 

“ _Whoa!”_

Suddenly a light came on dead center, outlining a man as he stood there, head down, hands resting on his long jeweled baton. As he pointed the baton in different directions, an accompanying light flicked on with each pont to illuminate him fully in the center of the tent with his arms spread wide.

“ _Whoa!”_

It was Tony Stark, in the Ringer Leader outfit Wade had seen him in the day before.

The man’s head lifted to peer at the audience, and he sang:

“ _Ladies and gents, this is the moment you’ve waited for.”_

Wade, safely in the shadows, and with no eyes trained on him, let himself enjoy the full wonderment of the circus.

As everyone started to run, jump, flip, gallop onto the stage to join Tony Stark in singing, Wade felt his eyes scanning the many differently costumed people.

He couldn’t even lie to himself about who he was looking for.

And when his eyes finally fell on him...

Wade hadn’t let himself believe in miracles, magic, or even the comfort of a religion since that day that had ripped his heart out in every sense but literally. Yet seeing that beautiful lean man spin from a descending rope as he sang through a radiant smile, Wade felt like dropping to his knees and declaring his faith. 

That funny feeling was in his chest again, less tight this time and more fluttery. These past two days he’d felt more than he had in the past five years. He hadn’t thought himself capable anymore; whether it was the mutation he now had causing it, or just his brain trying to keep him from anymore emotional pain.

But this type of emotion wasn’t painful. It felt _hopeful_. From experience, Wade knew that particular emotion could hurt the worst of all.

A day or so ago, that fleeting flicker of hope would have sent him running from this town without even a hasty goodbye thrown over his shoulder. It’s why he left all the other places, afterall. If anyone got too close, he ran. If they were confrontational, he ran. He only stayed in places he could slip under the radar. It was safer that way for everyone involved. He didn’t want to attach himself to anyone's life, good _or_ bad. 

It was why an indifferent callus bartender he’d barely spoken to was his best friend.

Looking around at the glittering lights, the prancing stage performers, and the applauding audience should have had him booking it before the song even echoed out into its finish. But something in him forced him to stay. A large part of him _did_ want to leave, knowing deep down that this would never be where he found peace. Singing about being different wouldn’t stop someone like from _being different._ They may have found solace in it, but Wade never would.

And he knew that. But another part, the current feeling in his chest, said otherwise. That maybe he _could_ start over, despite it all. He’d never forget, but maybe he could forgive. Himself and those who had taken so much from his life.

That acrobatic boy made him feel like maybe this life could help change his.

Before his mutation, Wade had been a goofy opinionated passionate guy. After, he’d become a shriveled up shell of a man, quite literally. His outside had died, or at least looked it, and soon after so had his inside. Without _her_ , his ray of sunshine, what was keeping him from being a damn thunderous rain cloud?

Peter’s smile reminded him of her; like sunshine embodied, good things, and the man he used to be.

_Fuck._

Wade sniffed, and forced himself to man the fuck up. He didn’t want to be the deformed masked freak crying in the shadows, that was just _weird_.

As the song ended and the audience rose to applaud almost deafeningly, Wade’s eyes skimmed over all the performers currently posed, their chests heaving from excursion.

He couldn’t see himself in the line up. He couldn’t see himself singing while costumed up, or performing in front of these people. At all.

But he could see all the other ways he might fit in, how this could become a place for him. If he was finally willing to let something be that for himself. If he tried.

Somehow, even hidden in the deep shadows, Peter’s eyes found his. It was almost as if they could see him right through the mask Wade wore, and the walls he had built around himself.

As Peter smiled at him he realised he had that answer for Stark, after all. 

Wade, after his emotional epiphany at the start, sat through and enjoyed the rest of the performance. 

Especially Peter’s. Damn, that kid was talented. And bendy.

Wade shook his head to clear those thoughts. Not the thoughts he wanted in his head as he attempted to find Stark.

He’d waited until most of the crowd had left the tent, but a far amount were still milling about outside. They were chatting excitedly to each other, or buying souvenirs, or talking to the few circus folk who were out to wave them all goodbye.

Stark was one of those few. He was bent over talking to a little girl, but the parents were tugging her away as she seemed to be talking Stark’s ear off.

The man waved them away, “It’s alright. I’m glad you enjoyed the circus! What was your favorite part?”

“Ummm,” the little girl twirled the end of one pigtail as she thought hard, “the horsey’s!”

Stark laughed. “Yes, they are pretty neat aren’t they!”

“I want to ride one like that someday!” 

Stark winked at her, and pulled out a candy and a business card from a hidden pocket of his jacket.

“When you get big enough, sweetie, you come find me.”

She gasped excitedly, letting go of her mother's hand to embrace Stark quickly and thank him.

“You’re welcome. Tell your friends about the circus, we’ll be here til the end of the week!”

The little girl waved as her parents hauled her away.

Wade cleared his throat, and Stark straightened, turning around.

“Wade!”

“You’re good,” he complimented awkwardly, “with them.” He tilted his head in the direction of the retreating people.

“I wasn’t always,” Stark admitted, “But you fake it till you make it, and eventually…”

He shrugged, “You end up not forcing it so much. They come to see our show after all. I’m thankful for that.”

Wade toed the ground, dust kicking up in the late afternoon heat.

“It, uh, probably won’t ever come easy for me.”

Stark shook his head.

“It doesn’t have to, Wade. I don’t force anyone to do anything they’re not comfortable with.”

Wade glanced up then, meeting his future boss’ eyes.

“I can’t dance, and I _won’t_ sing.”

A small smile started to grace Stark’s lips.

“Of course.”

Wade had one more condition.

“No costumes. I’m not the kind of guy to put on display, believe me.”

Once again, Stark shrugged.

“If you say so.”

Wade, who had points to make in lieu of argument but not agreeance, fell silent.

“Then I guess,” Stark said with a full blow smile, hand outstretched, “I should say, welcome aboard.”

Wade met that smile with a softer one of his own, even if the other man couldn’t see it, and clasped the offered hand with his and shook.

Tony had left Wade in his office signing paperwork, just for a brief moment. 

He wanted to go talk to O’Malley, see what their sales looked like. It certainly had looked like a sold out show, and it was the _afternoon_ show, no less. They almost never sell out midday times.

He’d only gotten Wade’s news about twenty minutes ago, and they’d gone straight to his office. That meant, of course, that the news was already circulating through the circus. 

Tony was wondering how long it would take Peter to find him.

He’d only just reached O’Malley (and they _had_ sold out, goddamn) when Peter came running, skidding to a halt next to Tony and kicking up a cloud of dust.

Tony waved his hand to clear the air and coughed.

“Where’s the fire?”

Tony handed the paperwork back to O’Malley, who grunted and glanced at a suspiciously new and quite _expensive_ looking pocket watch. Tony narrowed his eyes, and the other man hastily shoved it back in his breast pocket.

Tony tipped the top hat he was still wearing at O’Malley and made his way back to the tent. Peter hot on his heels.

“Is it true, Mr. Stark?” He asked, hovering around him excitedly.

“Is what true, Mr. Parker?” 

“ _Tony_ ,” Peter whined, and Tony stilled his strides just outside the tent. Peter almost never called him by his first name. “Did Wade agree to join?”

Tony shook his head sadly.

Peter looked so dejected that Tony suddenly felt bad for fibbing. 

He smiled, “Yes, he informed me shortly after the show. He’s currently in my office making it official.”

The younger man let out a small celebratory noise, and started bombarding Tony with a bunch of strung together questions.

“Hey, slow down, itsy bitsy,” Tony clasped Peter on the shoulder and squeezed, “One at a time.”

Peter took a deep breath and asked, “He’s really going to be part of our crew?”

“Really,” Tony assured, “And before you go asking— no. He doesn’t have an act. I don’t know if he ever will.”

Peter paused at that, before questioning quietly, “He doesn’t need one, though, does he Mr. Stark?”

Tony smiled down at him fondly. He had no idea how the kid’s body housed such a giant, kind heart. “No, kid. He doesn’t. We can always use the help, especially from a buffed up guy like him.”

He pinched one of Peter’s blushing cheeks and continued into the tent. 

Peter followed, rubbing at his cheek and groused, “Don’t call me kid.”

The day continued on, almost as if Wade hadn’t made a life altering decision. The sun was still beating down on them, the birds still chirping, as if the only thing completely changed by this decision was Wade himself. 

Perhaps that was true.

Wade continued helping clean up after the first show to prepare for the second bigger evening show. 

He didn’t miss the looks Peter kept throwing him, but surprisingly the kid didn’t say anything to him yet about the news he had, at this point, been bound to have heard. He directed Wade kindly to do certain things, usually by his side, but often called away to help others. 

It left Wade with a task and a mind free to roam. He wondered what Peter was thinking; the kid seemed the type to start up a welcome brigade at the news, but he hadn’t so much as uttered a word about Wade being his new coworker.

A seed of doubt settled in the pit of his stomach; Wade was way too good at watering those kinds of thoughts, giving them the time and attention they needed until they were practically overgrown and all-consuming. 

He shook his head. He didn’t need validation from a kid he just met. 

The voice that always came out to contradict him said, _yes you do._

He set his shoulders, ignoring the voice as usual, and got back to work. 

Peter was a fluttering ball of nerves. His stomach felt like he’d been spinning for hours; it was unsettled and flippy everytime he was close to Wade.

He couldn’t help it. Ever since the news Tony had given him he felt equal parts nervous, excited, anxious, and hopeful. With Wade traveling with them… 

Peter could maybe have this. If Wade was even interested.

He wasn’t sure. That’s what made him so nervous. He didn’t want to ruin anything for the other man, not when he’d just made the decision to stay. Peter himself didn’t want to cause any problems or tension with the new member of their group.

He wanted to blurt his feelings out, so instead he kept quiet. He knew it was rude not to welcome Wade, because the other man must know Peter knew. But Peter didn’t trust his mouth. He needed time to swallow it down, calm his nerves, and collect himself.

Otherwise this might not work out; especially if Peter ruined this on the first day.

He just didn’t know what to do. He’d never had someone to express feelings to before. Sure, he’d been flirted with in the past. The girls constantly fawned over him, and Constatine was a giant flirt when drunk off too much moonshine, and often gravitated toward Peter during those times. Peter couldn’t say he didn’t like the attention, but it never felt right to take advantage of the tattoo covered man; alcohol didn’t affect Peter the same way it did other people, what with his high metabolism. It didn’t feel right, him with a clear mind and Constantine with his altered one. So, they’d never gotten around to anything more than chaste pecks, and one memorable time when Constantine had stumbled while leaning in and lavished Peter’s neck with his kisses instead. 

Peter had blushed for a good week any time around the other man, who often didn’t remember much when he was drunk off ‘shine. It made it ten times worse when the other man kept asking what was wrong.

So, with that amount of limited experience Peter was treading into completely new territory. But… change was the catalyst of growth, they said. Or so _Tony Stark_ always said. 

God, he must be desperate if he was using Tony’s words as advice. Amazing business man, shoddy advisor. Even if he always meant well. His typical advice was “Don’t do anything I _would_ do.”

The feeling in the pit of Peter’s stomach grew throughout the evening, gnawing at him, until he was dressed in his costume for their second show that day and he felt like he was going to be sick. He couldn’t perform like this.

“I—” Peter suddenly said, after being uncharastically quiet. He’d taken one look at himself in the mirror and realized he wouldn’t be able to go on stage until he talked to Wade.

“What?” Natasha asked, applying rouge to her lips in the mirror. WD looked over at Peter questioningly. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said, decision made, making his way for the exit. He’d last seen Wade with O’Malley up front. Now that the crowds were inside, Wade must have felt comfortable walking around and he seemed more at ease with the pickpocket. Both of them were men of few words.

“Peter, Tony is about to start the show!” WD proclaimed, confused. 

“I-I know, but I have to—” He backed up, pointing over his shoulder and almost ran into Anne.

He apologized but she just smiled kindly at him.

“I saw Wade just outside the tent. He was planning on finding a place to watch the show again,” Peter always suspected Anne of having telepathic abilities, but she swore she was human through and through. “You might be able to catch him if you go now, hurry!”

Peter smiled at her gratefully and practically ran out through the flap she’d just entered from.

He hadn’t a clue what he wanted to say, he just knew he had to do something to quell the butterflies swooping restlessly in his stomach.

In a complete repeat of the day before, Peter found Wade by running into him. He’d exited the tent at a sprint, and hadn’t thought Wade would be so close. The other man oof’d as Peter collided with him, but wrapped his arms around the other man to settle him from falling backwards.

Peter looked up at Wade, who was easily a head taller than him, and smiled shyly. 

“Is there some sort of Wade magnet attached to this thing,” Wade plucked at Peter’s costumed shoulder, “because you keep running into me while wearing it.” 

He chuckled, and backed up once Peter was safely planted on two steady feet.

Peter gulped, suddenly unsure of all he wanted to say. What was too much? What was too little? It would be weird to welcome him now, wouldn’t it? He’d found out _hours_ ago.

He nearly face-palmed. _God, Parker_ , he thought, _you idiot._

“Don’t you start soon?” Wade asked, a confused lilt to his voice.

“Yes,” Peter admitted, “I just…”

He steeled himself.

“I just wanted to say I’m glad you decided to join us. I didn’t say it early because I...”

He trailed off, overcome by embarrassment.

Peter couldn’t see it, but Wade was smiling fondly behind his mask.

“It’s okay, kid,” he said, hands stuffed into his pockets, “I know what you’re trying to say.”

Peter doubted that.

“No, I- I just haven’t ever—” Peter huffed frustratedly.

Then, in a swift move filled with more courage than he ever thought he’d possess, he lifted up on tiptoes to kiss Wade on his masked cheek.

“I’m _really_ glad you’re with us now.” Peter knew he was likely scarlet. He could feel it as if there was a fire burning within his veins.

Wade was speechless. Peter could tell his jaw had dropped, mask indented from his open mouth.

He didn’t know how to take that reaction, but shock was better than anger, right?

Peter backed up and said bashfully, “I’ll, uh, see you after the show?”

Wade could only nod his head slowly, eyes never leaving Peter as he retreated back towards the tent.

He didn’t come out of his stupor until Peter disappeared.

“What just happened?” Wade asked aloud, but no one was around to give him an answer.

It suddenly felt like maybe he had fallen down a rather long rabbit hole, and he wasn’t sure where he was going to end up once he hit the bottom of it.

Wade had helped them clean up and dismantle for the night before leaving. Peter had walked him to the entrance and wished him a goodnight. They’d see each other tomorrow, but it felt like too much time until sunrise would come.

As Peter walked back through the empty circus a wolf whistle cut through the night.

It was Bucky, of course. Because nothing like ribbing someone could break him out of his usual stoic shell.

“I heard we got Wade,” Bucky told him, wrapping his flesh arm around Peter's shoulders and squeezing him closer. It put Peter directly into his sweaty armpit.

He pushed at Bucky in mock futility, but they both knew he could break free if he really wanted to. He had more strength than both Bucky and Steve combined.

“I think we have _you_ to thank for that,” Bucky ruffled his hair, and Peter huffed. He hated that. It was already in a permanent state of disarray most days, it didn’t need anymore help.

“He took one look at that little tush and-”

“Buck,” Steve’s voice came from Peter’s other side, and Bucky quieted instantly. Bucky had the softest spot for their Captain, or so they liked to fondly call him.

Bucky loosened his hold, but still draped himself causally over Peter. 

“I’m glad he’s decided to stay,” Steve told them both, but looked towards Peter as he said, “ _Whatever_ the reason for his decision. We’re glad to have him.”

Peter blushed, and looked down. Damn these busybodies.

Steve titled Peter’s chin up, and gave him a smile most people would turn into puddles from. 

“If you need anything,” he said quietly, just for them to overhear, “you can come to us, okay?”

Peter nodded, and Bucky came down to breathe into his ear, “We’ve been doin’ this a while, kid. We got secrets we could tell you so that he’d never wanna leave your bed.”

Peter ducked out from under his arm, and chuckled bashfully, rubbing at the back of his head in a nervous tick. He’d never talked to anyone about this. The men in front of him didn’t hide it, but they never discussed it like they were now to him. 

He felt like he was being initiated into some secret club, and he felt in over his head.

“Buck,” his partner chastised.

“Aw, shucks,” Bucky said, “I didn’t mean nothing by it. Really kid, I’m just saying you can come to us if you have any questions. Hell, we wish we’d had someone like that for us way back when. We had to learn through trial by error.”

A look passed between both of them.

“Thanks,” he finally said, and he meant it, “Really, I appreciate it. It’s just...I don’t even know if he likes me like that.” 

Admitting that out loud hurt worse than he’d thought; even if it’d been rattling around in his head all day.

“He does,” Bucky said confidently, and Steve nodded his head in agreement.

“There are signs,” Steve said, and at Peter's dubious look he sighed, explaining, “We might not know him well, but you can tell. He gravitates towards you. He opens up more around you. He barely talked to any of us today.”

“He probably just feels more comfortable because I went to meet him with Mr. Stark,” Peter argued.

Bucky laughed, “If you mean he laid eyes on you and can’t seem to focus on the rest of us, yeah. I’d say you’re right.”

Peter shook his head, but Steve interrupted him before he could argue further.

“The best way to find out,” he offered up, “is to get to know him. If he feels anything remotely the same, it’ll make itself known.”

Steve paused, trying to hold back his smirk, “Plus, I heard you already kissed him.”

Bucky wheezed, clearly Steve hadn’t shared that tidbit with his other half.

Peter burned bright red again, and that reaction was getting quite old, really.

“I-I did not! Who told you that?”

“O’Malley.”

“That damn eavesdropping thief,” Peter cursed. Then explained louder, “On the cheek!”

Bucky dissolved into laughter, “Seems like you’ve got this handled, kid. You’ll find out soon enough if he likes you or not, if you keep up the direct route.”

“I wasn’t trying to be direct!” He really hadn’t, words had just...failed him. He still couldn’t believe he’d done it, and then faced Wade later, no less! They hadn’t talked about it, and Wade certainly hadn’t mentioned it, but he had acted pretty normal. Quiet. Reserved. Even with Peter Wade wasn’t the biggest talker.

“Either way,” Steve slapped sharply at Bucky to get him to stop laughing, “our offer remains. If you need anything, come find us.”

“Thank you, I will,” he promised, and he wasn’t just saying that to move on from the subject. He meant it. It was nice to know he had someone to talk to if this thing went any farther. He couldn’t think about _that_ for too long, or it would cause his face to heat up again.

Bucky smirked as if he knew just what Peter was thinking.

Steve tugged him away before he could voice any of his thoughts, and they bid him goodnight. Peter waved to them as they walked away; they were whispering between themselves and Steve whacked Bucky on the shoulder which only made the other man laugh harder.

Peter had always envied their relationship. It wasn’t something they could be open about beyond the circus, and it was dangerous, but they always had each other. Someone who was so close to you, they’d carved out permanent space in your heart.

He stood watching their retreating backs until the darkness swallowed them, and then he went on his own way towards the wagon he slept in. The emotional turmoil of the day, plus the two shows, had him exhausted.

After he got ready for bed, he’d barely rested his head on the pillow before he was out cold.

His last remaining thought was the hope for dreams of Wade that night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for depictions of a panic attack in this chapter, as well as perhaps light self-inflicted pain. If you need to skip or know when it is, feel free to message me so I can give more details.
> 
> Happy reading!

The rest of the week flew by as Wade used the time to solidify his decision.

He wanted, more than he had wanted anything these past few years, to leave this town he’d barely attached himself to and join this crazy circus. Lord, if his father were still alive he’d have rolled in his grave knowing what his son had gotten himself into. Of course, his father had probably already rolled in his grave from his son turning into a disfigured mutant freak. But hey, they couldn’t all turn out to be winners, right Dad?

It wasn’t all sunshine and flowers, either. The work was hard in the grueling early summer sun, and it was twice as hard for him as he remained stubbornly covered. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them— No, that was exactly why. But that wasn’t _their_ fault. Wade’s trust had been shattered years ago, just like his skull had been across rain slick pavement.

So it wasn’t all perfect. But nothing was in the world, he’d learned. In between the grunt of real work were the jokes and laughter and _acceptance._ The tiny smiles Wade couldn’t control as he listened to them rib each other, or debate back and forth until they asked his opinion. Their attention never felt stifling, only genuine in the want to include him. Everyone had greeted him with open arms and warm welcomes; in their own way, and not all at once.

It was like he gradually integrated over the course of the remaining week, instead of everyone throwing themselves at him at once because he was shiny and new. He appreciated it. He wasn’t sure what he’d have done if Tony had thrown a damn shindig to welcome him. He might have turned around and walked out, despite the hurt that would have shown through golden flecked eyes. 

Wade spent the night at his apartment for the last time. If the space could even be called that, with its mildewy walls and broken windows. He was supposed to be packing up his stuff to take with him in the morning. Truthfully, he was sore from dismantling the big top throughout the night. It had been the final show in this town, and Tony was apparently a stickler for getting most things done straight afterward so they could wrap up in the morning and be on their way. 

Now that Wade was home he wanted nothing more than to sleep. (He couldn’t think of a single time in these past few years that he willingly _wanted_ to sleep.) He didn’t have anything he wanted to bring but a small bundle of clothes and toiletries, anyway. It may have been a sad thought to some, but right now he was grateful he could cram all his belongings into a tattered briefcase in under five minutes and focus on getting into what he called his bed sooner.

They’d finish taking the circus down in the morning, and by then the ache in his muscles would be healed and gone. He’d be perfectly fit to help out and load everything up into the wagons. He wasn’t sure exactly where they were going, but Peter said they were heading east towards the coast. They’d been doing a midwest stretch in their tour and now it was time to move on to more populated cities.

His jaw had clenched worriedly at that, but he’d stayed silent as Peter divulged his excitement to get to New York; it was where he was originally from, after all.

Wade slept fitfully, as per usual. He’d thought the clear exhaustion would tip him into a dreamless deep sleep... how naive of him. Dreams plagued him with memories of blood-stained pavement and wide, honey eyes staring terrified back into his as they slowly dimmed; this time framed by short disheveled hair, instead of longer curled locks.

Peter had assured Wade they wouldn’t be traveling far before loading onto a train to travel to their next destination. They often utilized the railroad to get around, he explained. Over the years Tony had found friendship in different people, and he was welcomed by many all over the country. He had a friend who conducted a train currently bound towards the coast, and he’d designated the tail end of it for Tony’s wagons, animals, and crew. They’d predicted to arrive by the beginning of next week, hitting the remaining dates of their tour along the coast by their normal methods of travel.

The next morning, Wade yawned as he made the walk down the road leading towards the circus in the still of predawn darkness. He had his packed breifcase heaved over one shoulder, and walked steadily on as he forced himself to think of anything but the flashes of the nightmare he’d had last night. His body had rested enough to heal, but his mind certainly hadn’t. He didn’t dream often, because he simply didn’t sleep often. He found himself plagued by that life-changing night repeatedly whenever he closed his eyes, and he hated revisiting her in those last moments. He wanted to remember the good times; the laughter, the happiness, the love.

Those things simply didn’t visit him in his sleep.

He found the bleak and agonizing darkness of his own self-obliteration far more enticing than reliving that fateful night.

But last night hadn’t been his typical nightmare, no. He’d imagined Peter in place of her instead, and he found himself gasping awake in a cold sweat; shaky and whimpering. The pain of the dream followed him into reality, and for a moment he was stuck believing it had really happened. He’d reminded himself Peter was safely dreaming his own pleasant dreams back at the circus.

It was partly the reason he’d left earlier than he’d originally planned. He wanted to get to the circus just so he could lay eyes on Peter and quell the voices in his head that taunted him. Reminding him he’d lost something before he could even properly have it. For a brief time, trembling alone in his bed, he had considered running. Not tagging along with Stark’s crew, instead heading in the farthest direction from them. If only to protect them from the inevitable shit-show Wade would introduce into their lives.

Wade’s heavy boots echoed in the early morning as he continued along.

He usually never let himself think it, unless he was in the briefest moments of drinking so much he’d reached a buzz for a minute or two, but he longed so deeply for change. Even in the smallest of forms; a steady job, a place to call home, _friends_. Things normal people let themselves have without even a second thought. Things they barely felt grateful for.

He’d scoffed at Tony’s offer those handful of days ago, and a large part of him still felt similarly. The world wasn’t going to change simply because they wanted it to, but... It didn’t hurt to tag along for the ride, right? Just in case?

He shook his head, hearing the desperation even in his own mind. He didn’t want to fall too suddenly into this delusion that all this would work out; maybe they’d find him useless in the weeks to come. He’d certainly made it clear he wouldn’t be putting on an act. So he’d have to find other ways to prove his worth. Surely a guy who couldn’t get hurt, or even _die_ , was worth something to the kind of business Stark was running?

He sighed loudly, tired of his own morose thoughts, and an animal that had taken shelter in a nearby bush took off in fright.

“Yeah,” Wade called after it, listening to it crash through the forest, “Tell that to them!”

It didn’t take him much longer after that to reach the crest of the clearing the circus had called home for the week. It didn’t look as lively anymore, with most everything taken down and packed up. The tent had been folded up and put away, but the innards of it were still strewn around in piles; awaiting their turn to be tucked safely away. 

A few of the animals were grazing on the remaining clumps of grass nearby, just at the edge of the forest, presumably free now to stretch their legs before they left. They didn’t seem to want to stray far from a redhead whose name he couldn’t recall. Her head lifted sharply as he drew closer, then relaxed as she noticed who it was. The dark of night was slowly ebbing away as the sun started to rise, and he could hear the movement and murmurs of those waking up around them.

“Good morning, Wade,” she greeted him with a friendly smile gracing her lips. Her accent seemed heavy with drowsiness, as if she was still attempting to wake up.

“Morning.” He felt like a heel that he couldn’t remember her name. He’d been trying over the past few days to remember everyone’s, but there were a lot of people here. More than what he’d thought at first glance. Some he was sure he hadn’t even met properly yet, and it didn’t help that he hadn’t had reason to remember anyone's name in a long time.

She noticed his briefcase, and if it seemed rather odd to her that that’s all he was bringing she didn’t make it known.

“Excited to leave?” she asked, petting a white mare that had wandered up to steal a carrot from her outstretched hand. It was the one they’d dazzled up as a unicorn the first night he’d come by.

The hand not currently holding the briefcase itched to reach out. But he refrained. 

He made a small noise at her question and said, “I suppose that’s one word for it.”

He’d felt a lot of things in the past week, he supposed excitement had been briefly threaded under all the other overpowering emotions.

She didn’t reply to his cryptic response, instead she surprised him as she reached out slowly to grip his gloved hand. He tensed as she pulled him closer until it landed on the horses head. Wade couldn’t feel much through the gloves, but he was in awe just being this close to the beautiful creature.

“This is Amnesty,” she introduced softly, and her hand slipped off Wade’s as she allowed him to pet her. “Tony got her out of a pretty sticky situation she’d gotten herself into. They were going to put her down, but Tony fought on her behalf.”

Wade wasn’t surprised. The world had a habit of killing the most beautiful things, and Tony had the habit of saving them.

“She’s not dangerous, or nasty. She was just misunderstood,” she cooed at the horse, “weren’t you, sweetie?” 

The horse whinnied softly, and Wade stroked down her white mane. He got along well with animals, when he let himself get close to them. They were gentle, innocent souls unable to form judgement on such trivial things such as looks, or gender, or who you took to your bed. If you were kind to them, they were often kind to you. Wade appreciated the impartiality. 

Amnesty snuffled her nose closer to him, sniffing along his front as if looking for something.

The woman hid a giggle behind her hand.

“Tony often keeps treats on hand, usually stuffed and forgotten into his jacket. She’s always the one finding them. She’s got no concept of personal space.” She handed him a carrot.

“Go on, hold it in your palm,” she encouraged. “She won’t bite.”

He wasn’t afraid of her biting. He’d heal.

He held the carrot in his palm and it was gobbled up a second later. A much more persistent nudging followed her continued explorations.

The women laughed fully this time, “She likes you!”

Wade pet down the mare’s back, secretly pleased. 

Suddenly, a man with floppy blonde locks called to her from a few feet away.

 _Wanda_ , that’d been her name.

She glanced over, and rolled her eyes at the gesturing man.

“Sorry, Wade,” she apologized, her accent soothing, “I’ve got to go help my brother. Feel free to stay with her as long as you like.”

Before she turned to leave she told him, “I have a feeling you’ll fit in just fine here.”

With that, Wanda made her way over to her brother who was exaggerating the heaviness of the two large pails he was carrying. A light red emanated from her hands, surrounding the pails as they lifted out of her brother's grip. It didn't come as a surprise to Wade, who had seen her act in the circus this past week. It only made him envious. Her mutation was fucking awesome.

Wade spent a few more minutes petting Amnesty, until she eventually realized he had no more snacks for her and wandered off.

The tranquility of her presence had been just what Wade needed to change the direction of the thoughts plaguing him this morning. Of course they were never fully forgotten but at least they weren’t replaying endlessly in his mind. He was in a much chipper mood as he continued wandering through the awakening circus. He wasn’t sure exactly what to jump in and help with. It seemed like everyone had a task or routine they were busy with and Wade didn’t want to interfere. So instead he continued his jaunt.

It wasn’t hard to find Stark. He was in the center of the rising chaos, like the calm eye of a storm. He had a map out in front of him and his friend Wade remembered as Bruce was beside him. He remembered the name because Tony had introduced him as Doctor Banner— their resident Doctor. The man had flushed, looking down as if embarrassed by this, when in reality he should have been proud, and told Wade, “You can call me Bruce.”

Stark didn’t even look up as Wade took over the space next to his left. Bruce threw him a soft smile, but didn’t say anything. He seemed to talk even less than Wade did, if possible. He was friendly, but kept mostly to himself. This was only the second time Wade had seen him, and he’d been here all week.

Wade took the hint to leave Tony be, as he was muttering to himself and tracing a route on the large map in front of him. It was only a minute or so before he seemed to come out of his concentrated daze, looking around and noticing he had one extra person with him than before.

“Wade!” He exclaimed. “Sorry, just trying to get these routes down before we head out. I like to be prepared in case we have to detour. How’re you feeling this morning?”

Physically? No worse than usual. Mentally? That was still up for debate.

“I know you helped quite a bit last night.” Tony’s voice was both appreciative and tinged with concern.

“Nothing a little sleep couldn’t fix. I’m good to go. Anything else I can help with?” He didn’t need to be coddled.

“I haven’t seen Peter up yet,” Tony mused causally, and turned to Bruce. “Have you?”

Bruce shook his head but said, “Not entirely abnormal, considering.”

Tony hummed, and used his dip pen to quickly sketch out a possible route, “You’re right. He’s been known to sleep well past sunrise when we dismantle late into the night.”

Tony glanced at Bruce quickly before straightening, lifting his finger as if an idea stuck him.

“I know! Why don’t you go wake him, Wade? You can keep your belongings with his for now, and the kid knows exactly what needs to be finished this morning.”

Wade’s eyes flickered from Tony’s to Bruce’s. Tony’s face held nothing but innocence, yet Bruce looked like he knew exactly what Tony was up to.

So did Wade. He just happened to not mind being thrown together with Peter, especially after that kiss. It had been festering between them all week, and made it impossible to think about anything else in the other man's presence. A man didn’t casually do that to another man, even if they were mutant outcasts in a circus. It meant Peter was interested. In Wade. It also meant he had a death wish, being that forward with a man he barely knew. 

Wade had always had a thing for the feisty ones.

He had hardly believed it when Peter’s lips had grazed his cheek that day. He’d barely felt it through the mask but it’d still somehow left a tingling sensation in its wake. A part of him still didn’t believe it, really. He’d been known to hallucinate, occasionally. Usually after a string of bad nights, when all he could do was pray time and time again to not wake up this time; a metallic smell clogging his nose and skin sticky with his own blood.

But he hadn’t done that at all this past week. So the likelihood of it having been a figment of his imagination was slim. Plus Peter had blushed so prettily the next day when he’d laid eyes on Wade, and that had made all the doubts go rushing out of him so fast his knees had almost buckled. So Wade had kept seeking Peter out, especially when it was clear Peter was happy to have him around.

He bid the two men goodbye and left to find Peter.

As he was leaving he heard Bruce hiss out something that sounded like “meddlesome”, the only reply from Stark being a feigned offronted “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He was out of range before he could hear Bruce’s reply.

He had only been to Peter’s wagon once, waiting outside as Peter found something he’d needed before a show, but he’d committed where it was to memory. He hadn’t _tried,_ really. His brain just sometimes fixated on things, and didn’t forget them. It could have been a blessing, but the reality was it often was a curse. It was why he had such detailed graphic dreams; his memories played out as fresh as the day they’d happened. His brain had a sick way of playing tricks on him.

There was a massive amount of empty space now that the big top had been taken apart. He could see all the tents that had been lined up at the farthest edge of the clearing, behind it. He’d wondered, when Peter had led him over to a row of wagons back and along the side of the big top tent, why Peter wasn’t in one. He hadn’t wanted to ask, it seemed too personal. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone to ask _him_ why he’d decided to live in a slum, even if the answer seemed pretty obvious even to him.

But when he’d glanced inside, the wagon seemed comfy enough. It had some of Peter’s own personal items littered about, and a huge nest of comfy bedding. It was a hundred times better than where Wade had chosen to call home.

Wade weaved in between bits of scattered equipment, and past two fully loaded wagons before reaching Peter’s. A part of him was doubtful that Peter was still sleeping. Every morning Wade had arrived so far this week, the kid had seemed so chipper it was like he’d been up for hours already. But Peter had gone through a full show, Stark having scheduled only one for the last night, _and_ helped pack up until the lanterns had extinguished themselves and everyone was forced to continue by moonlight.

Even Wade had been exhausted enough to fall asleep easily. At first, anyway. Which meant it was only reasonable Peter was still dozing. Even if the light was now cresting the trees, giving them a golden halo as birds twittered away in the cool morning air.

He laid his briefcase against the wagon’s wheel before stepping up onto the back of it. He hooked his arms over the board there and peered in.

Indeed, Peter was still asleep. The only clue he was in that mountain of blankets was the hair sticking out at the top by the pillow, and the steady rise and fall of deep breaths.

Wade smiled, a fondness for the man already tugging at his heart.

It felt like an echo. It felt like _before_.

He reached out and shook what he assumed was a foot gently.

“Hey,” Wade whispered as softly as his deep voice could. 

Nothing but the softest little inhale and moan as the figure shifted under the blankets.

Wade felt hot all of a sudden, and longed to take his mask off so the dampness of the morning air could cool him.

He cleared his throat and said a little louder, “Peter, c’mon buddy. Wake up.”

Another shake of the presumed foot.

More movement, but no cognizance.

He squeezed the foot slightly and ordered, louder, “Peter, wake up.” 

The blankets went sailing as the figure flew up halfway out of bed. It startled Wade so much that he retracted his arm too fast, flying backwards and landing flat on his back with a thud and a cloud of dust.

He groaned, sprawled on the ground, coughing. His spine had made a concerning noise when he landed. The pain was nothing compared to some he’d experienced, though. Minor, honestly. Simply winded, he let himself lay still as his body made quick work of fixing the hurt.

Peter’s disheveled hair and sleepy eyes peeked over the lip of the wagon.

“Shit! Wade!” He stood up a little straighter in concern, and Wade’s eyes zero’d in on the skin his oversized nightshirt had shifted to reveal along his collarbone and right shoulder. 

The skin was smooth and pale there, not as lightly tanned as his arms and legs which were used to seeing more sun. Wade wanted to know if it was as soft as it looked.

Peter made as if to climb down and Wade sat up quickly, back healed.

“No!” He shifted his eyes away, which hungered for more glimpses of skin, and reassured, “I’m okay. Really. Just—you don’t have to come down.”

Peter’s eyes raked over Wade’s body as if to make sure he wasn’t lying. Even if he had been, it would have been a temporary lie. His body was always okay in the end.

Then, as if remembering what he was wearing and what he’d just been doing, Peter tried to simultaneously fix his hair and cover himself. The nightshirt was ridiculously modest, considering it was too big, but it was still his _nightshirt._ Peter’s face burned red with embarrassment.

Wade cleared his throat, eyes averting again as they slipped and looked once more, damn them. “I’ve just come to wake you at Stark’s request.”

He got up and started dusting himself off, “Plus I know you wouldn’t want to miss breakfast.”

It was one of the first things he’d learned about Peter. He loved to eat, and he was damn near cranky when he didn’t eat enough. Wade, who didn’t yet feel comfortable enough to eat in front of anyone, and often forgot to eat anyway, had started to gift his share to the younger man. 

Peter blinked confusedly up at the sky, then cursed suddenly. 

“I slept in again, that’s twice this week!” His words disappeared with him into the shadows of the wagon.

Wade took a deep breath of fresh morning air to clear his mind and settle his hammering pulse.

That had… not been how he’d expected that to go, honestly. At all.

He was starting to see a pattern when it came to this other man. Nothing went as expected with him, and he was wildly, magnificently unpredictable. Since the first day he’d met him. It was a quality Wade had always loved in—

“Alright, I’m ready!’ Peter scrambled down gracefully, having changed into tan trousers and a loose beige shirt. He looked up at Wade once his feet settled on the ground. He still had the faintest pink blush resting along the bridge of his nose as he said, “Sorry about that.”

Wade shrugged as if to say ‘no worries’. What didn’t kill him, and all that.

Peter smiled slightly, then crouched down to grab something from under the wagon.

He came out triumphant with—one shoe. Wade raised an eyebrow Peter couldn’t see.

Peter spent the next minute or so trying to find the other until he huffed, crossing his arms, tapping his shoeless foot. He rubbed at his forehead as if that would help him to remember where the other one was. 

He placed his hand on his hips and did a slow assessing spin, looking around until his gaze settled on a box close to them. It had a few miscellaneous items, and, apparently, Peter’s other shoe.

“I really have to stop chucking them off at night like that.” Peter chuckled self-consciously as he tied up the other shoe so both his feet were safely covered. 

_Oh, baby boy_ , Wade found himself thinking to Peter, _if that’s your worst habit, I have no idea how this is going to work._

He must have made a subconscious noise because Peter looked up through his lashes at him questioningly as he finished tying. Completely unaware of Wade’s thoughts, _thank God._

He had no idea where that nickname had come from. It felt right, sure. Peter was younger than him, and fucking precious, okay? But it—It made him uneasy. He knew what nicknames meant. They’d had plenty of them between… between the two of them, back then. Cute ones, mean ones, funny ones. It all meant the same thing; safety and familiarity.

A part of him was worried he was projecting all of this, all of _him_ , onto this poor kid he’d met _barely_ _a week ago_. He hardly knew Peter (even if he already adored what he _did_ know) and Peter didn’t know him. He didn’t know the deepest, darkest, ugliest parts of Wade Wilson. Sure the kid had seen his ugly mug, back at the bar all those days ago, but it went so much deeper than that. His outside wasn’t even the most grotesque part about him. Peter couldn’t possibly be ready for a broken husk of a man, who came with baggage and trauma and the inability to say his late wife’s _name,_ for God’s sake.

The kid may have been interested, fine, but what that really meant was he should run far, far away from this walking, talking monstrosity of a man. So Wade couldn’t break him, ruin him, potentially _kill him_ just by being seen with the scarred man. Wade didn’t deserve to call Peter anything, let alone a sweet nickname like _w._ As if Peter belonged to him.

Because if he did, it’d only be a death sentence.

_And Wade couldn’t go through that again._

Wade’s chest felt tight, and his breathing turned shallow. He hadn’t felt this familiar feeling since before both Peter and Stark had accosted him at the bar. And, what? Had Wade expected those parts of himself to go away just because he was surrounded by other broken people? The difference between him and _them_ was that they’d been able to fit their pieces back together and mend themselves.

Wade had been shattered. There was nothing capable of putting him back together.

“ _Woah_ , Wade,” Peter took his elbow in concern as Wade swayed. He directed him with a strong hand to sit on the wagon’s protruding edge. He stood over Wade, concern shining in his eyes, but no pity that Wade could see. But it wasn’t like he was all that focused at the moment.

He had none of his usual things to help himself. He wasn’t at home, he wasn’t near the bar, and he was surrounded by entirely too many people. It only made his breath come quicker. 

In the middle of a damn forest, surrounded by a dismantled circus, Wade was consumed by a full blown panic attack.

“Hey,” Peter’s voice soothed past the roaring in his ears, “You’re here with me. Peter. You’re okay. We’re at the circus, nothing can hurt you here.”

Not helping. Everything about this could hurt him.

Peter’s hands rested lightly on his masked cheeks and Wade flinched back, head thudding painfully against the wood of the wagon.

The pain helped. Of course it had.

Wade couldn’t go all out here, no. He had to be discreet. 

His hands dug into the flesh of his clothed thighs with all his might and squeezed. It wasn’t fully what he needed; there was too much cloth between his gloves and pants, but it helped. It pinched just sharp enough to make him capable of exhaling harshly through his nose.

“S-should I get Mr. Stark?” Peter asked him timidly. His hands were crossed, practically tucked into his armpits, like he was afraid to touch Wade again. Wow, it really hadn’t taken them long to get to that point, huh. Wade hadn’t even had to take off his mask or gloves. Wade would have laughed if he had the lung capacity.

He shook his head resolutely at the question, and his grip tightened. Peter’s gaze flickered down to the bunched material in his clenched hands, but he wisely stayed silent. 

It took a few more minutes to stabilize his breathing and stop the circling thoughts in his head. 

He unclenched his hands, and his thighs ached for the briefest of moments before fading.

It was the weirdest thing, to experience something like that and then not have your body hold any repercussions of it. No throbbing head, no raw throat, no sore chest, no ache in his hands. It felt like it hadn’t happened at all. Except emotionally Wade felt like a towel rung out to dry.

“Let’s go.” Wade announced roughly, getting up.

Peter looked at him in alarm. “Maybe you should stay sit—”

“No.” His voice sounded clipped, almost mean.

Peter didn’t seem scared, only apprehensive.

“I really think—”

“Let’s go, Peter.” Now that voice Wade recognized. It was filled with the contempt, pain, anger, and hate he felt for himself. It was the same one he’d used all those days ago in the bar. It was the voice he’d been using for years, because it was who he was now. It had seemed to chip away throughout the week, but apparently it wasn’t gone. It fit like an old glove. 

Peter didn’t try to rebuttal this time. Just snapped his mouth shut and nodded, glancing up into Wade’s shuddered blue eyes before they started towards breakfast.

Somehow, they didn’t see each other much after that.

He had a funny feeling Peter orchestrated it that way, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Peter found things for them to do, but got called away for long stretches of time by others asking for his help. It had happened frequently over this past week, but for some reason it felt different today.

For one, Peter was gone longer. He also didn’t seem as eager or cheerful to return. In fact, he seemed almost hesitant, as if Wade would reel back and demand him to leave. He wondered if the long stretches of time he was absent were for Peter’s benefit, or Wade’s. Perhaps whatever interest Peter had in him had shriveled up as he saw the true glimpses of who Wade really was.

 _It’s probably for the better,_ he thought moodily to himself. _Peter should know the monster he’s trying to give his heart to._

That particular thought made his own clench in misery.

Wade focused on his task of loading a wagon with heavy crates filled with stage lights. He huffed, not at the work, but at his inability to make up his damn mind. He wanted Peter, and he wanted Peter to want him. Even if Wade knew all these feelings were a horrible idea. He knew full well the more Peter got to know him, the likelihood of him wanting Wade would disappear.

He shook his head. This was exactly why hope was fruitless.

Wade spent the rest of the day in his own head, berating himself, going over what had happened this morning and how he’d treated Peter. Fighting himself on changing his mind and just staying, waving as he watched the circus leave instead of joining them.

Peter left him to those thoughts, too busy consumed by his own. If anyone noticed their distance, their silence, no one said anything, and slowly the clearing became an open empty space once more; the magic of the circus packed away.

Wade glanced over to where he saw Peter heaving himself up into a carriage to settle in for the ride. His tentative and worried glance back over his shoulder, as if looking for something or _someone_ , gave Wade the final push to make up his mind. 

So off they went, Wade included. He accompanied Stark as he guided Jarvis to trot along ahead, leading everyone off towards the railroad depot. The man had passed him, clasping Wade’s shoulder companionably as he asked Wade to come sit up with him as they traveled. He’d accepted only because he wasn’t sure where he’d have ended up otherwise; the thought of sitting next to Peter in awkward silence was less appealing than sitting next to a chatty Stark.

The bumpy road jostled them as they rode down the very trail Wade had walked this morning. They passed through the populated sections of the town Wade normally avoided. Children hollered goodbye, waving as they left, giggling at the horses. Parents turned their noses up at the fanfare, and called to their children who wandered too close to them.

Wade wouldn’t miss this town one bit.


	6. Chapter 6

When they reached the depot, everyone got out to stretch their legs. They’d left late morning, and had arrived only a handful of hours later. The late afternoon sun was beating down on them as they milled about, waiting for Stark to find the conductor, do his schmoozing, and figure out what they were to do next.

Wade leaned against the carriage, listening to the buzz of idle conversation and laughter from those around him. He kept his eyes fixed on the gravel in front of him, but they twitched occasionally when he heard Peter’s breathy laughter. It took all his resolve for his eyes not to seek out the dark-haired man. 

It didn’t take long before Stark was walking back, a portly fellow he introduced as Happy Hogan by his side. Wade almost rolled his eyes. A man named Happy. How in the hell did Stark find these people? Was that his secret mutation; the ability to find the most interesting people in the world and collect them like baseball cards?

“There’s a reason I said yes to your almost impossible request,” Wade overheard Happy say to Stark. He glanced up in time to see Stark’s shark-like grin.

“Let me guess, it was my devious and devilish charm?”

Happy continued on as if he hadn’t heard him, seemingly used to the other man’s antics. “I’m traveling with a light load into the far side of Ohio, then loading up. So I’ve got plenty of room for you and your crew.” 

He walked further towards the group.

“I had a pal of mine add a few additional cars I normally wouldn’t have.” He nodded to a few railcars that indeed didn’t match the rest of the ones attached to his train.

“I’ve got cattle cars for your animals,” he motioned to several cars with open slots on either side of them, each car large enough to fit all their animals with room to spare.

He walked farther along and pointed to the next set of cars. Steve was leaning back against one, eyes closed and head turned toward the sun. Bucky had an arm propped up next to him and he was leaning in to whisper something in his ear. A small smile started at the corner of the blonde’s lips.

Wade’s heart fluttered in panic, and his eyes flew to Happy. It was entirely obvious how in love those two were with each other. But Happy didn’t seem fazed by the mens’ close proximity and kept talking, eyes drifting right over them to continue explaining each car.

“I’ve got the flat cars for your wagons and carriages—I’ll have to help you load those up so just give the word when you’re ready.”

Then he glanced at the group as he announced, “The rest of the boxcars are for you all. They aren’t the comfiest as I unfortunately wasn’t able to get passenger cars. Even _your charm_ has its limitations,” Happy said, ribbing Stark, “but thankfully we’ll reach our destination by mid morning. So get yourselves set up for a nice sleep and we’ll be there by the time you wake up.”

Which meant Wade, crammed into a moving box with other people close by, wouldn’t sleep a wink. 

“Thank you, we appreciate it.” Stark clasped Happy’s hand and shook. 

There was a brief pause before he said fondly, “I miss you, Happy.”

The other man chortled, pleased. “I miss you, too. I miss the good old days. Now you’ve got these super friends, and forgot all about us boring normal folk.”

Stark shook his head in disagreement, laughing, and pulled Happy into a brief hug.

“There’s nothing boring _or_ normal about you, my friend. You can join us any time you like.”

Happy shook his head. “Better leave that to the professionals. I’ve found what I’m good at.”

He tilted his head towards the train. “I’ll let you all get to it. I suspect we can be moving before dark.”

With that, Happy walked back up the length of the train. Presumably to get everything prepared for when they were ready to leave.

Tony watched Happy for a moment, still in the kind of way when someone had something on their mind, then twirled around suddenly and exclaimed, “You heard the man! Let’s load ‘em up!”

With everyone pitching in, and Happy coming back to help them, they had everything loaded up, including themselves, just as the sun was starting to kiss the horizon. The sky was a transfixing sight of bleeding pink and purple hues.

Peter stood outside for a moment, enjoying the breeze and the setting sun.

“Hey kid,” Lettie called from the car door she was about to slide shut, “You want to be left behind? Get that cute tush of yours on the train!”

He looked over his shoulder, “Sorry, Lettie! I’m coming!”

He gave one last look towards the skyline before turning around, “Hold on, Lettie!”

She paused, the door already halfway closed. Lettie looked contrite as she looked down at him. “I’m sorry, Peter. This one’s full up.”

He waved her apology away, “That’s ok! Can you throw me my stuff?”

She nodded, and handed down his blanket and pillow. He walked further along, and lifted his hand to heave himself up into the next open car.

“No can do, Spidey.” Bucky’s voice this time. 

“What?” Peter looked up into Bucky’s looming face.

“No room. Sorry, kiddo.”

Peter dropped back down. “Uh, that’s okay.” He waved goodbye to Buck as the man closed the car door.

There were only two more cars left, and _one_ had to have room for him.

He’d barely gotten to the next car when Anne’s head popped out of it. 

He looked up at her. She had her hair tied up like she usually did at night, with curled tendrils framing her face.

The look on her face had him throwing his hands up in disbelief.

“Let me guess,” he said exasperatedly, “you’re full, too?”

She nodded her head and suggested, “Try the next car! I’m sure they’ll have plenty of room for you.”

He didn’t even wait for her to slide the door shut as he stomped along.

“You mean the _caboose,_ ” he muttered to himself. “I suppose if _they_ don’t have room, I can just stick myself to the roof and pray I don’t slip off in my sleep.”

He was too busy grumbling as he threw his belongings up into the car and climbed into the caboose to notice the distinct lack of bodies. Only when he was fully in did he notice the only other person illuminated by the lit lantern's light.

Wade. 

_Just_ Wade.

He turned around to exit the car only to have it swiftly slide closed in his face.

Oh those conniving little—

He took a deep breath before he turned back around. Wade was in the farthermost corner, a pillow with a folded blanket on top of it set right next to him. Peter bent to gather his own, then hesitated with the bundle in his arms.

He knew where he _wanted_ to be. He just wasn’t sure he was welcome. He knew something had happened that morning, even if he wasn’t sure what it was. It had clearly panicked Wade; Peter knew the signs of a panic attack when he saw one. He’d had them a lot before Tony had found him. Back when he had been hungry and cold and lonely.

Peter wasn’t entirely sure what had set Wade off, but all day he had been worried he’d caused it somehow. He had replayed that morning a hundred times in his head throughout the day, and the only thing he could think of was that maybe Wade truly didn’t share his interest like he thought he might. Maybe seeing Peter in his sleep clothes had been too much, had caused Wade distress. It was the only logical thing Peter could think of. 

It hurt, if he were honest, quite a bit. He wanted the man so passionately, so wholeheartedly— but if he had to settle for friendship, so be it. He still wanted to be there for Wade despite it all. He just wasn’t sure what the other man wanted.

Peter must have looked visibly torn, because Wade said mercifully, “Got plenty of room down here. Seems like we got the place to ourselves.”

“Yeah,” Peter muttered darkly as he drew closer to Wade, “I wonder how that happened.”

(Wade’s thought process had been that nobody had wanted to be near the masked man. Then he saw Peter climb up and the door clang shut to his surprise behind him, and he started to have different suspicions.)

Peter settled along the wall of the car across from Wade. He took a minute to arrange his pillow and blanket, but didn't move to lie down.

Instead, Peter bit his lip and fidgeted with the blanket next to him. He glanced up occasionally at Wade, almost having the courage to speak up, to maybe ask about earlier, before losing his nerve each time.

All of a sudden Peter got a warning tingle down his spine and a moment later the train started to creep along. The wheels creaked as they started to move, then rumbled as they picked up speed. The whistle echoed as it signaled their departure from the station, and off they were.

The noise of the train moving over the tracks would make it hard for conversation, considering they were several feet apart. So much for Peter trying to talk with Wade. He sighed through his nose and crossed his arms, leaning his head back along the vibrating wall.

The minutes ticked by and Peter started to drift off, not quite asleep but not fully awake either; in that soft drowsy state of semi-awareness.

He startled as he sensed movement to his right, and when he opened his eyes he saw Wade had moved over to join Peter’s side. Plenty of space for them to both spread out, but now within talking distance if they so choose.

Wade had been the one to make the move, not Peter. Despite the awkwardness Peter could still feel lingering between them that had to mean something, right? 

The things he wanted to say repeated in his mind, if only he could get his mouth to move and speak them. Wade made no further move towards Peter, nor attempt to talk to him. He just sat stoically silent besides him.

His frustration brewed, accumulating until it broke like a dam and Peter couldn’t stop himself from finally saying something.

His words came out fast from nerves but no less true.

“I have a few things I want to say to you,” he started, keeping his head straight, not daring to look at Wade. Not that he could see his facial expressions, but he could certainly read the look in his eyes. 

“You don’t have to say anything back,” Peter quickly assured, “I just want to tell you something. I… I know something happened this morning. I’m not entirely sure what it was, or...or if I had something to do with it.”

Peter licked his dry lips and continued.

“I know it may look like we all have our shit together, because most of us have been here awhile and we seem like one big happy family. And we are! But each of us took a journey to get to that point. Some of us have handled it better than others, but we all still struggle with our pasts in our own ways.”

He sighed softly, tucking his chin comfortingly into his shoulder for a moment. It always hurt him to bring up Aunt May, but now-a-days it was a soft hurt instead of an all consuming grief. He wanted to give this part of himself to Wade. To help him understand.

“I was young when my parents died. So young I barely remember them now. My father had a brother in Queens so they assumed custody and raised me. I was ten when my Uncle Ben was murdered.” 

His eyes started to blur, but he had to continue on, that was only the beginning.

“Aunt May and I did okay for a while. I started taking jobs as I got older to help her out, and those years… They were okay. We were healing,” he wiped at a stray tear. “We were happy. Or as close as we could get to it, considering.”

He took a shaky breath. “I was fourteen when Aunt May fell ill. At first she tried to hide it from me, but it slowly became more obvious. She couldn’t do the things she used to do, she had no energy, she’d get winded while talking to me. Then she started coughing up blood…”

He stopped to wipe angrily at his tears. They wouldn’t change the past.

He felt a gloved hand squeeze his bicep in a comforting gesture, and he let out a broken hiccup. It wouldn’t ever stop hurting when he talked about this stuff.

“I lost her just as I turned fifteen. I couldn’t take on full responsibility for the house and bills, I had no one to teach me or help me. So I found myself on the streets not long after.”

Peter picked at the frayed edge of his blanket. “My life on the streets wasn’t pretty. It was rough and scary and lonely. I stole food when I could, but most days I went hungry. I got increasingly more unique at finding ways to make money. Stealing newspapers from trash cans to resell, pickpocketing items to sell off. I could have given O’Malley a run for his money,” he laughed wetly, “and that was before my mutation.”

He finally risked a look over at Wade, whose focus was solely on him. He turned to face forward quickly; pleased Wade was listening, but also embarrassed. Most of the crew had an abridged version of Peter’s past. No one had ever pushed for more details, having too many of their own unpleasant memories held tight to their chest.

Wade would be the first one to get the whole emotional story from start to finish, other than Tony.

“This one day,” Peter sniffed, “was particularly bad. I couldn’t remember when I had last eaten, and I was so desperate. I saw a man walking by with a briefcase, who looked like he had money. I followed him for a bit, and the moment he put that case down I stole it.”

Peter’s voice took on a haunted tone, and his gaze turned unfocused as he recalled that day so many years ago. The day that had changed his life.

“I ran so fast,” Peter nearly whispered, “I was so scared, afraid the man would follow me or call the police. I ran until I couldn’t anymore, until my legs gave out. I hid in an alley as I attempted to open the briefcase. Of course it was locked, but I didn't let that stop me.”

He paused for a few seconds to collect himself before continuing, “When I got it open all it contained were _spiders_. All different kinds in small glass vials. I couldn’t believe it. I’d taken so much time, and risk, for spiders. What was I supposed to do with those? I was so hurt and frustrated, I threw the briefcase in anger against the wall.”

He could still hear the sound of glass shattering, and remember the feeling of the rough brick scraping his back through his threadbare dirty shirt as he’d collapsed in tears. 

“I don’t know how long I sat there just feeling so hopeless. Not knowing what to do next, or where to go. I was afraid to go back out into the city in case the man had authorities out searching for me. So I stayed put, and eventually I must have dozed off.”

Peter rubbed at his left arm. There was no visible mark any longer, nothing to show from the bite that had changed his life. His very _being._

“I woke up to sharp pangs coursing through my arm. It throbbed with a pain so deep my arm almost felt numb with it. I somehow felt like I was freezing and on fire simultaneously. I remember shivering so badly my teeth were chattering... I’d never felt anything like it before.”

Peter sighed, “I don’t remember much after that. I’m assuming I had a high fever and passed out. When I came too… I felt different. I _was_ different. I never found out what those spiders were, or why the man had them. All I know is that one bit me, and turned my world upside down. I worried about the new changes I was facing, and ended up leaving town shortly after, scared that my mutation would draw attention.”

He ran a hand through his hair, “I’ll spare you the details of me stumbling through my new abilities, but it didn’t help that I had to learn them while out on the streets. I was still struggling when I met Tony. He’d heard rumors of me, a kid who climbed buildings and lept from lampposts.”

Wade surprised Peter with a huff of laughter at that. It’s the only noise he’d made this whole time.

Peter laughed lightly along with him, relieved, “Hey, it might have been difficult but that didn’t mean I couldn’t have fun! I accidentally ran right into Tony one night when I was hungry and exhausted and miscalculated a landing. He and I share similar pasts, and when he told me about his vision, about all this…”

Peter shrugged, “Clearly, you see the choice I made.”

He bit his lip, then turned to look at Wade head on.

“I don’t expect your story in return. I just wanted you to have a small piece of mine. To know that… We all have pasts that aren’t pretty or easy. It took me a long while to understand my new body, my new abilities. I felt alone and lost for a long time because of it, even after Tony brought me here, and I didn’t just put on a suit and start swinging from ropes.”

He laid a tentative hand on Wade’s covered one as he continued, looking deep into blue eyes.

“I still struggle some days. I’ll miss my family so badly, but then I remind myself that I’ve built one here. Or I’ll wake up from a dream thinking I’m still out on the streets, alone and struggling to understand myself.”

Peter shook his head. Those nights came few and far between now, but when they did they hit him hard.

“You’re going to have days when you feel like you’ve made progress, but then you'll wake up and feel like you’ve gotten nowhere at all. There will be trumpiants _and_ setbacks. But you can’t let the past take over your present, Wade. It happened to us, yes, but we get to decide how that affects us. It doesn’t have to dictate how we continue living our lives.”

Peter debated what he was about to say next. They had a long train ride ahead of them, if these words didn’t go over well. But he’d come this far, Wade needed to hear these words, too.

“I can tell you’ve got things that… haunt you. Things that go deeper than just your skin. I want you to know that no matter what I’m here for you. However big, however small. I want to be here for you through it all. I can’t change your past, but I can be by your side to help shape your future. In any way you want me to.”

Even if it was in a way that Peter couldn’t have him. He’d be there anyway. 

Blue eyes glistened, and Peter smiled tenderly as he squeezed the larger hand still held in his. Peter tried not to think about the prolonged hand holding, but it made his heart skip a beat.

“You deserve good things, Wade.”

Peter’s smile dimmed as Wade’s hand snatched itself back to paw at his damp eyes.

A silence settled between them. Each second felt like hours to Peter.

“So,” Wade sniffed, “How does Tony know that conductor?”

One hell of a non sequitur but Peter had said what he needed to say, and Wade had let him. 

He could let Wade have this, this simple change of subject. 

So he hummed and leaned back against the wall, suddenly sleepy. Being emotional did that to him. 

“Tony used to work for the railroad company. It took him all over, and he’s kept contact with a lot of his old buddies from that time. He was quite young when he joined, but his heart condition made it hard for him to do the physical labor. I guess he got harassed a lot for not being able to work like the others. A fair few of the guys he worked with felt protective of him, but he still wasn’t welcome there by most.”

His eyes started to droop, the movement of the railcar lulling him to sleep.

“Tony’s smart as a whip, but he’d let you think otherwise.” Peter yawned. “Somehow he started to design and come up with ideas for the railway instead, moving up from the physical labor. It created more than a little bad blood between the other workers and him. Eventually he grew tired of it all and decided to join the circus.”

Peter chuckled, “Or not join, I suppose. He decided to create it. For people like him, who had been born different and outcast for it their entire life, and for us, the mutants people hate on principle.”

His eyes drifted fully closed now, but he was still awake. Really, he was...

“I’m glad he did,” Peter murmured, “otherwise I don’t know where I’d be right now.”

He felt a blanket drape over him, and his eyes flickered open in surprise.

“Lay down, kid.” Wade tugged at him, but not away, no. He tugged him down so Peter’s head lay pillowed on his powerful thigh. Peter yawned, and snuggled further into the warmth.

He wanted to protest being called ‘kid’ but it took too much energy. He was in that floaty space again, not fully asleep but falling slowly into it.

Careful fingers tucked Peter’s blanket further around him. Then, words spoken so soft they were barely audible over the noise of the moving train, “I want you there through it all, too.”

But Peter heard it anyway. Thank you, spider bite.

Wade waited until Peter’s breathing turned soft and even. The smaller man’s head stayed pillowed on his thigh as he dreamt on. It pressed along a particularly painful ridge of scar tissue, but Peter seemed comfortable so Wade let him be. The pain would ground him, and hopefully keep him awake.

He waited a little while longer to make sure Peter was really asleep before taking off his mask and gloves. While he wore them to hide his hideous mug from the rest of the world, it didn’t mean he enjoyed wearing them. It was often hot and stifling, especially in the summer, and the restricting material often made his skin condition worse. But rather that than the alternative. 

He knew how that ended.

Wade discarded the mask and gloves next to him, but not too far, just in case. Peter had already been subjected to his face once before. Which was, in Wade’s opinion, one time too many.

Peter made a snuffling sound, and adjusted his position just enough to jostle his blankets. Wade fixed them, tucking him back in and noticed a few curls had fallen across Peter’s forehead and over his eyes. 

Wade reached out to fix them, push them back, but hesitated right before he could touch. It had been so long since he’d had any contact with another human being without his gloves on that even something as simple as pushing someone's hair aside felt intimate.

Peter’s eyes fluttered as Wade’s hands finally pushed the stray brown locks aside, but remained closed. The flickering flame of the lantern cast shadows on the planes of Peter’s face; accentuating the curve of his full bottom lip, his cheekbones, the slope of his straight nose. The lighting only made his face look even more handsome and youthful. 

Wade fisted his hands together at his sides, even as they ached in protest, and kept his hands to himself. None of the words he had used to describe Peter could apply to himself, and no one who looked like him should be touching someone as angelic-looking as that man did in his sleep.

It wasn’t that Wade didn’t understand what Peter had been trying to say, earlier. His mutation had disfigured his outside, not his brain. He knew every single person at this circus, human and mutant alike, had shit they’d been through. He didn’t want a gold medal for his trauma, hell, most days he wished he could forget it entirely. 

While what Peter had said was true, his past would always remain in the past, it was untrue that his future wouldn’t be affected by it. _Everything_ from his past tinged his future; because of what he’d lost and why, because of what he now looked like and how that changed how people saw him, because of the danger that put him and those around him in. The shadows would always be where he was most welcome, and people would never forget that. Would never let _Wade_ forget that. 

How did you explain that to the wonderfully hopeful, _beautiful_ mutant man who was currently using Wade as a pillow?

Without, that is, giving him the full panic-inducing, brain-blowing flashback that _was_ his past?

Yeah, that wouldn’t be coming up anytime soon.

Wade didn’t feel sleepy, but with the lack of people in the car and the lulling of the moving train, Wade felt his eyes getting heavy. He tried to fight it, pinching himself every few minutes to ward it off, but the truth was, he felt tired and _safe._ For the first time in a long time, he felt safe enough to close his eyes; secure in the fact that no one could get to him. 

Wade’s head rested tiredly against the car’s wall as he snorted softly at his own thoughts.

As if anyone would be able to do something he hadn’t already done to himself. As if someone would ever find something that could keep Wade from coming back to this living nightmare.

Wade let those thoughts drift to the back of his mind, not gone but distant at least, and stopped fighting the heaviness in his eyes, letting them fall closed. Peter seemed out cold, and Wade barely slept through the night as it was. He’d be awake before Peter to cover himself and maybe even get to see those beautiful brown eyes blink groggily into awareness.

As Wade slowly faded into sleep his last lazy thought was of how cozy he felt despite being in such an uncomfortable position.

Peter woke suddenly. Eyes blinking open into the darkness of the train car.

A dream of him and Wade up on the Trapeze smiling and laughing slipped like sand through fingers in his mind. His senses hadn’t sent the signal for danger, just made him aware of change in his surroundings.

They were slowing down.

Probably not noticeable yet to anybody on the train but for Peter and the conductor. He’d guess within a few minutes they would be coming to a stop. 

The lantern must have extinguished hours ago, but Peter’s advanced eyesight performed just fine in the sealed up darkness. Peter moved, his neck twinging, then paused. That didn’t feel like a pillow; far warmer, and less soft. 

Peter titled his head back and his mouth nearly dropped. 

Wade’s head rested on his own shoulder, angled down so Peter could see his whole face. He wasn’t wearing his mask. He hadn’t noticed before, back when Wade had taken his mask off at the bar, that the other man didn’t have any eyelashes. Peter reflexively reached up to touch, but the hand was blocked by Wade’s arm which had found its way curled over Peter’s chest at some point in the night.

Peter looked down and noticed—

Wade wasn’t wearing his gloves either.

Peter shifted minutely, as to not disturb Wade, to wiggle the hand not pinned out of its cocoon of warmth. He drew his hand ever so slowly to hover over Wade’s. He wanted to touch so badly, then immediately felt bad for it. Wade didn’t want him to see this, if the way he wore it during the day was any indication. He should avert his eyes.

But… But Peter wasn’t sure when he’d get to see Wade like this again. Uncovered. The side of Peter that had always been too inquisitive wanted to know what those mangled scars felt like. He wanted to know if they’d be soft, or rough, or perhaps a mixture of both textures.

Wade let out a soft snore, and Peter let his fingertips trace the back of Wade’s hand in the whisper of a touch.

He stilled immediately, letting his senses tell him of any movement in Wade. When he sensed none, he continued. From the man’s wrist to fingertip, Peter let his hands commit this moment to memory.

The skin felt… not as bad as it looked, honestly. Perhaps dry and cracked in the rougher parts, but mostly smooth and soft from the scar tissue. He avoided a few that looked newer, raised and sore, but overall they all seemed faded with time. He wasn’t sure about Wade’s skin—if this was due to some horrible event Wade had been through, scarred from, or if it had manifested because of some sort of mutation. He knew Wade had some sort of healing ability, perhaps like Peter’s own, but beyond that he hadn’t really asked Tony about it— once Wade had decided to join, Peter made the decision to find out himself. When Wade trusted enough to tell him. He was sure Tony knew more than him, had to, as their boss.

But he wouldn’t ask Tony. The man wouldn’t tell him anyway, if it was something Wade wanted secret. Tony could be a loud mouth for most things, but not that. Not when it came to _them_ and their personal details.

Peter got braver, turning one fingertip into two, then three, then eventually his hand was practically petting Wade’s. The man stayed sleeping obviously above him, so Peter took the final leap and softly laced their fingers together. Just— just to see what it would feel like.

Peter had never held hands with someone before. 

It felt warm and safe, like a hug but different. He didn’t even feel the difference in textures between their skin, not when he was too focused on his pulse pounding in his veins. It felt special to have his hand linked through Wade’s. Then it felt a little like guilt, for stealing this moment; for not having Wade’s permission to touch him let alone look. He didn’t want to betray his trust, he just _wanted_ it so badly.

Surely he could have just this little bit? In the stillness of the dark with no one around to judge either of them.

Suddenly the train jolted, the brakes finally slamming down further to slow them down. Wade twitched awake, tightening his fingers just as Peter tried to slip them from his grasp. He continued to pull his hand away but their fingers were locked together tightly. Impossible to escape.

Of course, Peter knew he had the strength to pull away if he really wanted the grip to end. But he had been the one to touch Wade unsolicited, so he now had to suffer the consequences of those actions. However Wade wanted; anger, sadness, betrayal. Peter hoped he would just be willing to forgive Peter; even if his actions were inexcusable, they’d been done in innocence. 

He hadn’t meant to hurt Wade.

But Wade didn’t look mad. In fact, he looked slightly alarmed and a lot confused. Peter realized that Wade couldn’t see in the pure darkness like he could, and was probably still groggy from waking up so suddenly in a new place.

“It’s just me, Wade,” Peter spoke softly to him in the dark, “We’re on the train, remember?”

A soft grunt followed, “I r‘member.” 

His voice was hoarse from sleep and a chill ran through Peter at the deepness of it.

Then Wade tensed, thigh going ridgid under where Peter’s head still rested. He lifted their combined hands, so they were just above Peter’s head and froze there for a few moments before squeezing their fingers together gently. As if to make sure they were really real.

He brought them closer, making Peter sit up and turn or else his arm would be twisted wrong. Wade looked like he was trying to focus on seeing in the dark at their combined hands, and it only added to Peter’s guilt that _he_ could see Wade but the other man couldn’t see _him_.

He wondered what his own face looked like right now. Wondered if it mirrored Wade's in shock and trepidation.

Neither one of them noticed when the train came to a full stop, both too encaptivated in the moment.

Wade’s eyes kept their gaze on the hands in front of his face, tugging them closer still until Peter’s knuckles were right in front of his plush lips. He could feel the air from Wade’s shallow breaths tickling across the fine hairs there. He was hovered at the side of Wade, the top of Wade’s strong thigh pressed along the tops of his own where he sat back on his legs; and he realized if they both leaned forward just the slightest bit they’d be kissing.

“ _Wade_ ,” Peter breathed, hoping the word conveyed what he just could not voice right then. _Please_ and _I want this_ and _I want you._

He leaned forward the slightest bit and—

The moment was broken as the door slid open to the side loudly (and Peter can’t believe his senses let him be surprised like that) hinges protesting. Sunlight flooded the dark cavern, causing them both to flinch back at the brightness.

Peter hadn’t even thought about it, his body moving on pure instinct. One moment Peter had been sitting pressed close to Wade, the next he was standing up, stepping over Wade, shielding him from any eyes that might glance in.

Nobody came in, though, and Happy’s voice floated in as he gave them a wake up call. They’d arrived and needed to be up and at ‘em in five. He had to load up in two hours.

By the time Peter turned back around Wade was already standing behind him, covered up like normal.

Peter let himself mourn briefly for the moment they’d lost. He almost wanted to turn back around, couldn’t look at Wade right now when they’d just been— they’d almost just—

Wade took that moment to stretch past him, shooting a glance at Peter then down at the wooden floor.

“Guess we better get going,” Wade said a tad awkwardly, voice rough, waiting until Peter started to nod.

He gave a stitled nod back, then dropped down off the train.

Peter waited a moment, breath held, before letting it out through his lips in a quietly annoyed raspberry, scrubbing his hands through his hair in frustration.

_They’d been so close—_

“Morning, Wade,” Peter heard someone greet outside, “Peter up?”

Peter huffed again in frustration. The timing of these people, honestly!

“Coming!” he called, and jumped down into the too cheerful morning light. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! Still here, still writing, still updating. Don't you worry about that! Trigger warning this chapter for descriptions of blood and injury. If anyone needs further details, let me know! Enjoy <3

Wade jumped down from the dark train into the sunlight and had no clue how he was going to get through this morning.

He couldn’t even begin to catalouge what he felt as emotions continued to bubble up within him. At first he’d felt vulnerable. Thankfully they’d been in a pitch dark boxcar, because he wouldn’t have let even a minute pass by if he’d known Peter could see him without his mask. He knew the man could feel his skin through their shared touch, but that was much less horrifying, he imagined, than seeing it with your own eyes. 

Then, as he’d realized Peter had been holding his hand _willing_ before he woke up, was confusion. This kid surprised him at every turn. It wasn’t lost on Wade how young and attractive Peter was. Hell, the kid could have anyone. But there he’d been, in the pitch black darkness, choosing to hold hands with a monster like Wade Wilson.

Wade was getting so tired of pushing people away, even for their own good. This kid kept persistently _coming back;_ wearing down his resolve even when Wade couldn’t figure himself out enough to stay consistent. At what point did he just raise his hands up in defeat and give in to the inevitable, even if he knew it wouldn't end well?

Lastly had been pure, gut-punching lust. When he’d felt Peter’s smooth skin against his, and the heat of his body draw closer…

Wade forgot about self-preservation and just wanted to _take_ so badly in that moment. Peter had clearly been willing, if his action of leaning toward Wade was any indication. He’d almost had the answer to his question, if Peter’s lips were as soft as they looked, when that damn door had slid open, interrupting them.

The only drawback from having so many people around, he supposed. They popped up at the worst times.

“Morning, Wade!” a heavily tattooed man greeted him, “Peter up?”

Wade couldn’t stop staring at the ink covering the entirety of the man’s face—entire body, actually. He wore a shirt with no sleeves and every piece of skin shown was covered down to his fingertips. The white shirt was sheer enough to see dark smudges underneath; a clear indication of many more tattoos. Wade reminded himself of how much he hated it when people stared at _him_ , and glanced away. He was just about to answer the man when Peter’s voice filtered out of the dark space in the railcar.

“Coming!” Peter jumped from the railcar, and executed a landing far more impressive than Wade’s had been.

“Good morning,” the man repeated, far warmer, and Peter gave him a small smile. A jolt of something unpleasant ran down Wade’s spine.

“Good morning, Constantine! What’s going on?” Peter asked, stretching his back out.

“We just attempted to move one of the wagons,” Constantine hitched a thumb over his shoulder, “But we missed one of the chains. It was wrapped around the front axle and through the front wheel. Wheel’s broken and the axle's jammed, now. We won’t be able to roll it off the ramp like we planned.”

Peter sucked a worried breath in through his teeth. 

“Yeah, it’s gonna make it a little hard to use later today,” he chuckled humorlessly. “I think we got a spare tucked away somewhere, but right now we need help getting the wagon off. I can fix it once we get it down.”

Peter nodded. “Say no more. I might need Steve and Buck’s help just to stabilize the weight though, just in case.”

Constantine nodded in agreement. “Alright, I’ll go find them and have them meet you over there.”

Then the attractive tattooed man was gone, away from Peter, and Wade could breathe again.

“Who’s that?” Wade asked, hoping for nonchalance but even he could hear the edge to his voice.

Peter tore his glance away from Constantine’s retreating back to look at Wade. A faint blush rose up along the bridge of his nose as he did so.

“Oh, you haven’t met Constantine, yet?” Peter mused. “He’s our ‘Tattooed Man’. Got every inch of himself covered with them.”

Wade’s lips held back the question: _do you know that from personal experience?_ He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, if he was honest. He didn’t want to ruin the pleasant feeling he still felt from where Peter’s fingers had innocently interlocked with his own just minutes ago.

He flexed his hands and turned, “We should go help.”

Peter had just been about to say something as Wade turned suddenly, but he snapped his mouth shut and nodded.

Wade wondered what Peter had been about to say. Was it about this morning? Was it about their almost-kiss?

God, he sounded wet behind the ears.

Horribly mangled skin aside, he was _not_ , in fact, a virgin. It had been awhile sure, but he needed to stop acting like one. He’d had years of downright filthy experience in that department. Admittedly _before_ he looked like this but still, he shouldn’t have been falling apart over _holding hands._

Peter followed a few steps behind Wade’s determined ones; his strides were purposeful and long, sure the faster he could get away from the railcar they’d shared the quicker his mind would clear of such embarrassing thoughts.

Holding hands had been something he’d thought he’d lost long ago, but it didn’t mean he had to act like some blushing schoolgirl offering up her maidenhood.

Peter must have read the tense line of Wade’s back because right as they were about to reach the wagon he reached out a hand to rest along the cloth of his shirt there, “Wade—”

“Hey, Peter, Wade!” Bucky’s voice called from up where he was standing next to the broken wagon wheel. 

Peter sighed softly, slightly irritated, and let his hand slip from Wade’s back. A shiver followed the line that hand made down his spine.

“Hiya, Buck,” Peter greeted, squinting up at the man with a hand to shield his eyes; the sun had risen while they’d slept on, and was now shining down over them all. The clear sky was blue and bright for miles; no clouds in sight. 

Wade threw his hand up in a wave, not sure of his voice at the moment; a phantom touch still ran down his spine.

The train had come in way later than when they were normally expected to be up, but they all deserved the lie in. They’d be doing nothing the next few days but traveling, then eventually setting up the circus in their next location. They wouldn’t have the opportunity for that kind of rest in a while.

Peter walked up the ramp attached to the flat railcar and gazed down at Wade once he reached the top. 

“Want to help? I’m not sure if you’ve got super strength but, uh...” he blushed and glanced back at where Bucky was crouched over the broken pegs of the wagon wheel, occupied in examining the damage, before turning to Wade once more.

“It certainly looks like you do,” he muttered bashfully, low enough so only they could hear. With that said, Peter turned to go join Bucky.

Wade’s biceps flexed impulsively at the compliment. _Take that, Tattoo Man_ he thought rather spitefully. Peter had noticed him and _he_ hadn’t needed to walk around with his arms bared for the world to see. He was doing the world a service by not doing that, truthfully, but _still_. Peter seemed impressed despite not being able to see much beyond the shield of clothes he wore.

While Wade was distracted, preening from Peter’s attention, Steve walked up behind him to deliver a clap of greeting on his shoulder. Wade jumped in surprise and Steve took a step back, giving him space, throwing his hands up in a ‘I mean no harm’ gesture.

“Sorry, Wade.” Steve said apologetically, sounding sincere, “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“‘S’okay,” Wade muttered, embarrassed both at his jumpiness and at the warmth still spreading in his chest at Peter’s comment. He wasn’t used to this amount of people always around him, and he certainly wasn’t used to the casual touching these folk seemed to dish out daily. A part of him felt grateful they’d accepted him so readily, already treating him like one of them, but another part of him still flinched when they got too close, or clammed up when they wanted to talk to him.

Years of living in your own head did that to a guy, he supposed.

Steve gestured at Wade to follow him up, and they made their way over to Peter and Bucky.

The greeting Bucky got was nothing like Wade’s; Steve’s hand ran softly through the loose dark locks before giving an intimate squeeze of hello to the nape of his neck. Wade saw a quick shiver of pleasure run through the crouched man before he glanced up to his partner, giving him a soft smile. 

“Hey, Cap.” Peter greeted from beside Bucky, smiling at their display of affection. As if he was used to it. He probably was, Wade realized. Around each other there wasn’t much they hid. No need to, when you were around people who understood and accepted you better than the world ever could.

“Mornin’,” Steve replied, observing Bucky as he was in the process of trying to take off the old wheel, so it wouldn’t get in their way as they moved the wagon. Once Bucky had the wheel off, he stood up and started to break what pieces he could across his thigh.

He looked up at them and said, “No use wastin’ it, we’ll be campin’ out tonight anyway. Might as well use ‘em for firewood.” He tossed the pieces as he went down to the ground below them into a pile of broken, jagged spokes to collect later.

He brushed his hands together then placed them on his hips, “Well, ladies, this wagon ain’t gonna move itself.”

Steve quickly caught Bucky in a headlock and rubbed his knuckles playfully over the top of his head, “Who you calling a lady, huh?”

Bucky laughed from within the hold. “Certainly not you, Rogers, you’ve got no class,” he teased, prodding Steve sharply in the ribs when the other man didn’t relent. They continued tussling for a moment, and Peter leaned against the wagon, laughing at their antics. Wade had a hard time figuring out what he wanted to pay attention to at that moment

It wasn’t hard to pick, though, if he were honest.

“Alright, _gals_ , break it up.” Peter finally spoke up through his laughter, “I figure this shouldn’t be so hard with the four of us.”

Steve and Bucky broke up, panting slightly, smiling at one another. 

Something a lot like envy panged through Wade’s heart.

“Come on, Pete, don’t be so modest.” Bucky raised one eyebrow, “We all know you don’t need us here to help with this.”

Bucky reached over to punch lightly at one of Peter’s biceps, “Gonna take Wade to the gun show?” He shook with laughter as Peter’s face went bright red, and he started sputtering.

“I—that’s not—you—”

Steve wacked Bucky softly upside the head. The other man pouted and rubbed at the spot like it’d been painful. Steve rolled his eyes at the dramatics and warned, “Buck, knock it off. Stop teasing him.”

Wade wasn’t exactly sure what was going on.

Steve, who couldn’t see Wade’s puzzled expression but seemed to guess, turned to tell him, “Peter has super strength among his many other mutant talents.”

Peter wouldn’t meet Wade’s eyes, clearly embarrassed by Bucky’s teasing. 

“Let’s just get this done,” Peter muttered, walking away and out of sight to the front of the wagon.

Wade moved to follow him, but not before he could hear Steve quietly reprimand Bucky.

“Why do you always have to push?”

Bucky replied back, not as low as his partner, “Because they’ll be dancing ‘round each other forever if we don’t!”

Steve sighed. “Oh, Buck.” 

When Wade rounded the corner and laid eyes on Peter, it seemed, if possible, that he was even redder; as if he’d overheard that last part of their conversation.

Wade wasn’t sure exactly what Peter was embarrassed about. Surely not his strength, because if Wade was honest it was pretty impressive. Seeing a slim and lean fellow such as Peter and knowing that underneath that facade was more strength than even Wade had? Shit. 

He turned himself away from Peter to adjust his britches slightly. Hopefully unnoticeably. 

He could only assume it was Bucky’s ribbing that had caused Peter to be flustered. Combined with the morning they’d had… Well, Wade could understand. He’d taken privacy to a whole new level these past few years, and he knew what it felt like to have it invaded. He wanted to say something to Peter, perhaps make the young man smile, but he wasn’t sure what. He wasn’t good at cheering _himself_ up most days, let alone anyone else. So he stayed quiet.

Wade took one side of the wagon, while Peter the other. He assumed Steve and Bucky were doing similarly.

“Alright,” Steve’s voice commanded loud and clear, “Buck and I will pivot the back end towards the ramp. Peter, you two can keep that end lifted and use the back wheels to guide her off the ramp, nice and easy.”

On a count of three, they did just that.

Steve and Bucky lifted and turned the back end of the wagon towards the ramp, their grunts of exertion filling the air. Wade’s own muscles strained as he lifted, but not as much as he anticipated. He looked over to see Peter lifting his side of the wagon, barely breaking a sweat.

Wade’s grip slackened for several moments as he kept up his appreciative ogling. He noticed just as the wagon shifted too far out of his grasp and cursed himself silently. He hurriedly went back to holding up his end, but… Peter hadn’t even noticed Wade had let go for those brief moments; had barely noticed any additional strain of weight on his end.

Bucky and Steve let down their end of the wagon, the back two wheels providing an easy way to push the wagon down to the ground. Wade, still in awe at Peter’s display of strength, at what that deceivingly lithe body could _do_ , hadn’t noticed how close to the edge of the ramp he was as he kept walking. His right foot came down wrong, just along the edge, and it slipped over the side; his body pitched through the air as he lost his balance, hands ripped from the wagon, and he fell painfully onto his side on the ground below.

The impact of the fall rushed the air from his lungs, stunned him. A sharp jabbing pain that radiated from just under the left side of his ribs had him sucking a sharp breath through his clenched teeth.

 _Fuck_ , that stung. Stung maybe wasn’t the right word, perhaps Wade was downplaying it, considering he’d just been stabbed through with a piece of the very wood Bucky had just discarded minutes ago. Wouldn’t that just be his damn luck.

Wade laid there winded as the commotion carried on around him.

Peter shouted Wade’s name and was next to him in an instance. He heard the twin shouts of Bucky and Steve, and turned his head just enough to see the wagon go careening down the ramp too fast, nearly hitting them. They managed to get out of the way just in time, and settled the run away wagon, but Wade’s head was getting turned by hands on his masked face.

“Wade!” Peter's eyes locked onto his own and the panic shone clear within his golden-flecked iris’. Up close like this Wade could see how long his eyelashes really were; he’d never seen such lashes on a man before. Wade could admit he had a thing for beautiful brown eyes; the ones he was currently admiring wide and worried and glistening.

Wade’s gaze glanced from Peter’s mesmerizing eyes down to the pain radiating from his side. What a thing to focus on while currently impaled and bleeding out, but really this was just another typical Tuesday with Wade Wilson. The voice in his mind reminded him it _wasn’t_ actually Tuesday, but he waved it away; he’d been facetious.

Wade shifted to prop himself up along one forearm, the other cradling his abdomen. His gloved hand fumbled around to grasp the end of the spoke he’d been skewered with, like a damn Wade-kabob.

“Someone find Bruce!” He heard Steve call out.

Peter stayed hovered over Wade’s side, hands unsure where to hold and help. Wade wanted to tell him this wasn’t a big deal; _he’d_ inflicted worse on himself than this. It was just he’d been taken by surprise by the, oh yeah, rather large splintered piece of wood protruding from his abdomen. 

But they were really making this into too big of a deal. Wade just needed to get up and find his bearings, pull this damn thing out of him and he’d heal just fine. The only evidence would be the holes in his shirt and the blood soaking through it, otherwise it would be like it hadn’t even happened.

He breathed through his nose at the pain as he attempted to sit up. Moving with a sharp object pierced through your abdomen? Yeah, he wouldn’t recommend it.

“Wade, I think you should—”

“Peter.” He grunted, now sat upright. “I’ll be fine.”

Peter tutted worriedly. “I don’t think—”

“ _Really_.” Wade insisted, wanting to quell the increasing alarm on Peter’s face, “I’ll be fine. I’ll heal.”

Peter laughed humorlessly, “I don’t care what kind of healing factor you think you have, you need a doctor.”

Wade pushed himself up to stand, and Peter grabbed under his arm to help lift him up; still muttering worriedly about Wade not staying still. His abdomen shifted painfully around the wood still lodged there and he gasped, leaning a little heavier against the shorter man. Peter took it like it was nothing.

Oh yeah, _there_ were all those thoughts he’d been thinking earlier. The ones that had distracted him enough to get him into this embarrassing mess. They’d scattered from his mind as he fell, but there they were rushing back in full force at the display of Peter’s strength as he practically held Wade up.

 _Not the time_ , he chastised himself. No one else could have possibly focused on those kinds of thoughts while impaled.

Well, Wade lived to prove otherwise.

He tightened his slick grip around the end of the spoke jutting out and pulled hard. It moved slightly but not enough to slip free.

A deep breathe thru the nose and just one more tug—

“Wade, don’t! Wait for Bruce, you’ll bleed out faster that way!” Peter’s voice rose in alarm, but Wade had already dislodged the wooden spoke and threw it forgottenly to the ground. His flesh started to knit itself back together instantly, and truthfully he’d never truly gotten used to that sensation. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t pleasant either.

In that moment Tony and Bruce came rushing up, Clint and Natasha not far behind.

Bruce took one look at the scene before him and turned clinical instantly. He was over at Wade’s side before anyone had a chance to blink, putting slight pressure around the wound and examining it.

“Well, that’s horrifying...” Clint mused, eyes wide at the sight of blood. Nat elbowed him in the ribs for his big mouth. 

“Ow,” the archer muttered, rubbing at his side.

Tony gawked at the scene in front of him for a moment, before a bark of laughter escaped.

He made his way over to the wounded man. “Wade, you really are a perfect fit.” He clasped Wade on the shoulder, “You’ve already got the flare for dramatics needed to survive around here.”

Wade didn’t say anything, but Peter sounded scandalised as he protested, “This isn’t funny, Tony! He’s hurt!”

Peter himself looked hurt at Stark’s near blasé reaction.

Wade shook his head, not liking that particular look on Peter’s usually smiling face, and squeezed clumsy at the arm Peter still had wrapped around him to help him stay upright. He was starting to feel better, though, and stood up a bit straighter on his own. “Peter, I’m fine, really. I have a pretty rapid healing factor.” _Understatement of the century_ , he thought dryly.

Bruce straightened and gestured to Wade’s abdomen. “He’s right. It’s already closed and the bleeding has stopped. He’ll be okay.”

Peter didn’t look reassured.

“Kid—” Tony reached a hand out to Peter.

“No!” Peter flinched back and away from the touch, locking hurt-filled doe eyes on all of them. Wade’s heart clenched at the glistening he found there.

“How can you all just act so casual about this?” Peter’s eyes glanced to the blood on the ground, the disturbing smudges of it on his own shirt and hands from where he had held Wade. He shook his head, and shoved past everyone that had started to gather. Nat sighed, giving Tony a disapproving look before following in Peter’s wake.

“Peter…” Wade called to him, but his voice trailed off as Peter continued walking off.

He hadn’t meant to make light of the situation. To him, though, these things were as minor as papercuts to regular people. He got hurt, he healed, he moved on. There was no need for the fanfare and dramatics, despite Stark’s comment.

He didn’t need anyone worrying over him because in the end he always found himself whole and hearty. That didn’t stop him from being touched by Peter’s concern, though, or his need to put Wade’s health at top priority. He hadn’t had anyone worried about his state of existence in a long while.

It was… nice. Touching.

Fuck, Wade’s stomach hurt now for an entirely different reason. It felt a lot like guilt; that feeling and him were old friends. He looked back over his shoulder, where Peter had stormed off.

He should go see if he was okay...

Stark slapped him on the back, and his gut gave a twinge. Alright, so maybe not fully healed yet. Good to know.

“Let’s get you into new clothes,” Stark said to him, then lowered his voice. “And we should probably talk.”

Then he glanced around at the others who were still milling about, looking curious, concerned, or perhaps a mixture of both. There was always something going on around the circus, and for those who hadn’t been there to witness the event, they’d have the full details by the end of the day.

“Alright, show’s over!” Tony shooed them away. “Wade’s a-okay, and we need to be off this train and traveling within the hour.”

Wade went back to their railcar to change, hoping he’d find Peter there, but no such luck. Once he was in a fresh shirt, pants and gloves, he tucked the old soiled clothes away to get rid of later. There was no saving them. Horrible, really, as he hadn’t much clothing to spare as it was. 

Oh, well.

He hopped back out to find Stark leaning against the side of the boxcar, arms crossed.

“Listen...” Stark started hesitantly. “Peter’s lost a lot of people in his life.”

“I know.” It killed Wade inside to know Peter knew the pang of loss just as much as he did. He’d never want anyone to go through that, let alone as many times as the young man had. And to come out of it so positive and caring…

It was the complete opposite of how Wade had let his grief consume him. 

“You…. know?” Stark blinked at him, as if not understanding how Wade could have obtained such information.

Wade glanced away and admitted, “He told me last night.”

Stark sighed. “Oh, boy.” A hand came up to scrub across his face.

Wade’s eyebrows furrowed beneath his mask.

“What?”

Stark studied Wade for a moment, and he wondered what exactly the man was looking for. It wasn’t like he could read Wade’s facial expressions. But then again who knew? Stark had already proven himself to be a strange man.

“Just...” Stark’s eyes met and held his own. “Don’t hurt him.”

Wade, who’d beaten him to that very thought, panicked over it even, told him sincerely, “I don’t want to.”

Stark nodded, as if hearing all the things Wade meant by that simple sentence, and replied just as sincerely back, “I know.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is folks, what we've all been waiting for!
> 
> Enjoy, happy reading, and please let me know how you felt about this chapter!! 
> 
> (also, shout out to anyone who recognizes the convo I incorporated with Steve and Bucky)

Wade was struck with a case of deja vu.

In a repeat of yesterday, Peter was almost nowhere to be found if Wade was close by. This time, though, Wade had a clear idea of why he was being avoided. 

Brutal things happening to Wade had turned mundane to him in the past few years. Blood didn’t faze him, gaping wounds in his body barely brought a raised eyebrow; pain, to him, had been bent and shaped into an entirely different experience for him.

Peter wouldn’t, _couldn’t,_ understand that. A fact Wade was glad for; he wouldn’t wish what he’d been through on anyone. What Peter saw had worried him, scared him, and rightfully so. To anyone else, even someone with a slight healing factor, that kind of injury would have been near fatal. It was Wade who was different; his body healed almost instantly from any type of wound, even going as far as regenerating limbs and coming back from the dead. The mutation inside him fit perfectly with his monstrous outside.

But, it wasn’t the first time it had come in handy, the not dying thing. He’d been particularly grateful today, not wanting to have been off’d before he got the chance to feel what those full pink lips might feel like against his own scarred ones. 

It looked like that chance was dwindling, however, with each hour that passed of Peter’s avoidance. Eventually, with everything packed, wagon fixed, animals fed, breakfast had, and everyone collected, they left to travel on. They had plenty of time to travel before they needed to stop for lunch.

Wade found himself still sitting up with Stark, but they made no more mention of their small conversation from earlier this morning, nor of his injury. Stark just continued to lead Jarvis on, tidbits of thoughts spilling out of his mouth occasionally. He did a fair amount of talking without the need for Wade’s input. He was honestly grateful for it.

They stopped for lunch when the sun was highest in the sky. It beamed relentlessly down upon them, so they took shelter in the coolness of the shade beneath the trees alongside the road; eating sandwiches and fruit the cook had prepared for their journey, as cooking wouldn't be as accessible while traveling.

They continued on, the trail they were riding on winding into a lush forest.

The sun was just about wishing the sky goodnight when Stark announced they’d be stopping for the night; the darkening sky spread out as they slowed, pushing the last golden tendrils away as the night crept closer.

Tony led them to a large clearing where they could spend the night comfortably, with just enough room to spread out and build a makeshift camp. There were no towns surrounding them yet, as they were too far out into the country, so they’d have to travel most of the next day in order to reach the outskirts of the closest cities. There they’d decide where the most ideal place to set up the show would be. Often, though, Tony had that all planned out before they arrived. Especially if they’d traveled to that particular town before.

But for tonight, they’d sleep here. They started pitching tents to settle in for the evening; a few campfires were made, food turned over spits, and before they knew it the stars were blinking into existence above them.

Wade, who had made it a point to eat farthest away from the group all day, was fully fed now and sat upon a large log in front of a comfortably warm fire. It was mesmerizing as it flickered and glowed, and Wade found himself captivated by the dance of the flames; he was lost in his own world as he gazed unwaveringly into the fire.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d checked out, mind going quiet as he enjoyed the fire, the warmth, and the happy banter around him; but he was thrown back to reality by a familiar breathy laugh next to him. That tellingly _happy_ laugh that he had come to recognize.

He glanced to his right, almost afraid to look, and there Peter sat, not too close but not as far as he could have sat considering there was room and he’d been angry at Wade all day. Or so Wade assumed.

He had no idea when Peter had sat down, or why, but he was laughing at what Bucky was saying. Suddenly Wade found it prudent to check in.

“So,” Peter asked, still shaking with laughter, “You really had to ride back in a freezer truck?”

Bucky nodded his head, and Steve just shook his as Bucky chucked a thumb up to point in his direction.

“This one used our train money to buy hotdogs.”

Steve sputtered. “You blew _three bucks_ trying to win a stuffed bear for that redhead!” His voice held the same accusation as a pointed finger.

Bucky hummed, as if remembering. “Oh yeah, what was her name?”

“Dolores, you called her Dot.” 

Bucky nodded, “Oh yeah, I remember now. Nice gal. She wasn’t the one I wanted to win the bear for, though.”

Steve ducked his head, clearly pleased by Bucky’s admission if his red cheeks were anything to go by. The jealousy that had been building was extinguished by the light kiss Bucky left on his lips.

Peter’s gaze went soft, and he turned toward Wade; the first time he’d been close to or acknowledged the other man since the incident this morning.

A pink tongue came to swipe at Peter’s dry lips, and Wade’s eyes tracked it. Peter bit his lip when he noticed and quickly asked, “Will you come with me?”

Wade blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that, but he’d go anywhere with Peter, _whenever_ he asked.

He just nodded.

Peter stood, and put out a hand for Wade to take. Wade glanced at the offered hand before grasping it, levering himself up to stand and follow Peter. The younger man didn’t let go once Wade was up. Instead he tugged him along, interlocking their fingers in the same fashion as this morning. The ghost-touch Wade had felt all day bleed into reality; the hand in his heavy and tangible. 

_Real._

As in, this was really happening. Wade pinched himself discreetly, yet sharply, to check, and yes. Wade was really getting led by the hand by a gorgeous young man to the end of the woods, to the farthest part of the clearing; the trees thicker here, the shadows darker, the flicker of firelight too far away to fully reach them.

The dark thoughts within his mind that reminded him this wouldn’t end well were shoved aside as they emerged. Perhaps Wade did deserve to be punished, but he’d done just that for all these years. He’d kept himself isolated, away from the world, with no one around him he cared for or who cared for him.

But… Peter was changing all that, even in the short time they’d known each other. Wade was starting to see that maybe his punishment had been self inflicted all along. Maybe his sentence deserved to be lifted. Sure, he wasn’t completely cured, completely fixed, but he could have this; people who cared for him and a purpose beyond hating himself.

They reached the treeline, and through a sliver of moonlight Wade caught the rosey blush resting along Peter’s cheeks. 

“You really scared me this morning.” Peter admitted quietly in the confidence of the darkness around them. 

“I know.”

He did. Truly he understood, and was sorry, but Wade would always heal. He said as much to Peter and the younger man huffed.

“Wade, you may heal,” Peter took the other hand not wrapped up in Wade’s and rested it over where the taller man’s heart was pounding away in his chest, “but that doesn’t make it unimportant when you’re hurt.”

Peter took a few crowding steps towards him, and Wade took one backward only to have his back hit the trunk of a thick tree. The rasp of its bark against his back helped to ground him, to remind him this was really happening.

He had a hard time believing when good things happened to him. Mostly because they didn’t.

“It’s the physical stuff that heals…” Peter’s gaze lifted to meet his, “what about everything else?”

Wade looked down, and Peter’s determination shone in those bright brown eyes.

“What else is there?” Wade asked.

“This,” he whispered as his hands slipped up and away to the end of Wade’s mask. He flinched, but allowed Peter to roll it up to the bridge of his nose. A stray finger brushed against Wade’s cheek, then the corner of his lips, following the scars there.

This kid was going to kill him. 

Wade wasn’t sure if Peter pitched upwards or if he swooped down, but suddenly the distance between them was closed and their lips were meeting; softly, deliciously, and Peter’s tiny sigh of “ _f_ _inally_ ” whispered across Wade’s lips left a tingle in its wake.

At first it was chaste, a few small delicate kisses, but they slowly lengthed into longer, heated ones. Wade barely remembered turning them around so it was Peter’s back he had pressed up against the tree. A tiny moan escaped the man bracketed by his arms, and Wade pressed his body closer.

Wade had missed this. Kissing. Feeling a warm body against his.

The kiss turned hungrier, fueled not only by years of Wade’s pent up desire but also years of Peter’s longing; the younger man had always wanted someone special enough to do this with. In that moment under the stars, with the wind ruffling the leaves of the trees overhead, with Wade nipping at his bottom lip, he was so very glad he’d waited for Wade. 

Their shared passion burned through the kiss, practically numbing their lips with it and the need for air became prominent, unfortunately, so Wade left one last languid swipe of his tongue to the bottom of Peter’s full lip before pulling away; breathing hard, chests heaving against one another.

Peter brushed fingertips across his plump, swollen bottom lip in wonder. 

Then promptly hid his face in Wade’s shoulder.

Wade, whose own lips were swollen and pounding along with his heartbeat, couldn’t help but chuckle against Peter’s ear. The embarrassed boy tucked into his shoulder mumbled something, but Wade couldn’t hear him.

“What’s that?” he asked, smiling; there was nothing he could do to stop it spreading across his face. He was _happy_ , and damn, that’s what that feeling felt like. Wade had almost forgotten.

“I said… that was my first real kiss,” Peter admitted softly, looking up from under his lashes at Wade.

Oh, sweet baby boy. He was truly sorry for that.

“Sorry for what?” 

Oops. He hadn't meant for that to slip out. 

_For it being with someone like me_ , he didn’t say.

Peter’s cute confused face morphed into understanding, and Wade was positive he hadn’t said that last thought out loud. Peter just seemed to know what he’d meant without him even needing to say anything. 

His hand came up to rest against Wade’s still half-bare face, fingertips slipping just the barest bit under the remaining part of the mask. He made no move to remove it the rest of the way, though, and Wade’s heart clenched suddenly at how much he knew he could end up loving this beautiful boy.

He tried his hardest not to panic at the thought. Everything he’d once loved had been ripped from him. 

“It was perfect.” Peter stopped his line of thinking with a simple whisper. “I wouldn’t have wanted it with anyone else.”

With that, he leaned up once again to press a firm kiss to Wade’s mouth. As if sealing in what he’d just said.

“We could head back.” Peter bit at his lip, shy, “Or…”

 _Oh,_ Wade thought, gaze settled on the moonlight highlighting across Peter’s full, tempting lips, _definitely or._

Suffice to say, they didn’t head back until the fires were near embers, the clearing filled with soft snores and sleeping bodies, their lips too sore to continue on any longer.

The following morning was filled with knowing looks and sly smirks.

No one could tell by Wade’s face because he was wearing his mask, as per usual, but Peter’s pretty brown eyes were nearly ringed with dark circles; a clear tell that neither one of them had gotten a full night's sleep last night.

Wade hadn’t felt this giddy since he’d met Vanessa. 

His heart panged at her name, but it wasn’t the painful, near-numbing surge it normally was; and he found himself able to continue without the dreaded thoughts that would have accompanied just thinking her name.

He wondered if some part of him really was healing, or maybe Peter had just kissed the self-deprecation right out of him.

Wade didn’t mind either, really.

Kissing Peter late into the night had been like a dream; the kind he wished he had, unlike the nightmares that usually plagued him. He’d almost been afraid to wake up; alone in the tent Stark had gifted him, in the early hours of morning with the birds singing, he wondered if he'd had his very first good dream and dreamt it all up.

But once he emerged from his tent, all he was greeted with were the smug knowing looks of the circus crew around him. So, no, he hadn’t dreamt it at all. He felt relieved, then worried, wondering if anyone would approach him to warn him off or do the inevitably “you hurt him, we hurt you” spiel.

That last one was rather moot, in Wade’s opinion, but he supposed it was the point of the matter, really. Although Wade would rather rip his own heart out than hurt the tender, kind boy who’d somehow slipped past his barbed wire defences. He kind of wanted him to stay, now that he was there. 

Again, no one came up to Wade in anything other than greeting, or to ask him for help. Peter was occupied too, but waved shyly to Wade in the morning from across the clearing, ducking his head in a blush afterwards as the person next to him made a remark Wade was too far away to hear.

They disassembled camp rather quickly, tending to the animals and other necessities of the morning. Before they left they enjoyed a quick breakfast; Peter accompanying Wade as he sat secluded behind a wagon to eat.

Wade had gone alone at first, never drawing much attention to himself as he snuck away. Peter had followed moments later, his own breakfast in hand with a sheepish expression. Like he wasn’t sure he should have come. Wade was a little apprehensive to reveal that part of himself in the light of day, but he couldn’t hide away forever, could he? 

He knew the folks here were more than accepting. They wouldn’t blink twice at Wade’s disfigured face; but it was Wade who was holding himself back, as usual. He knew that here, of all places, he could let his true identity be free instead of covered up.

He still tensed at the thought, though. Unwilling to take the huge leap when his brain gladly conjured up the bad memories of a time when he had walked around without his mask, and how bad it had ended.

Wade glanced at Peter and the thoughts seemed to clear away, like they always did when Wade was around him, like clouds after a rainy day. He could do this, he realized. He could do just this little bit, to show Peter he trusted him.

He lifted his mask just to the bridge of his nose, like he always did to eat. Like he had last night to kiss him.

Peter averted his eyes quickly and focused on his food.

“I won’t look,” Peter promised, taking a bite of his juicy apple and focusing on the treeline in front of them. 

Wade didn’t want that, though. His gloved hand reached out to rest under Peter’s chin and tilted it so they were looking at one another. Peter’s parted lips shone with the juice of the apple he’d been enjoying, and Wade couldn’t stop himself from leaning over to taste.

“You can look all you want,” Wade whispered huskily across Peter’s lips, gaining confidence as he noticed the reaction it got. Peter shivered, even in the rising heat of the morning, and Wade couldn’t help his smirk.

He blushed prettily and pushed playfully at Wade. They both laughed, and Peter gave him a quick peck on the lips, ducking his head shyly, before continuing on with his breakfast.

Wade glanced at the boy next to him in wonder for a moment, unwilling to believe he got lucky for a second time in his hellacious life because things like that didn’t happen to a man like Wade Wilson. They just didn’t.

But here he sat, next to someone who made him feel alive again, and he found he didn’t want to push him away. Even if everything in the back of his mind was telling him this would only end painfully.

He crunched into his own apple and brushed those thoughts away. They’d plagued him for so long, had consumed him for so long... but now he had something stronger than his long since broken resolve to drive those thoughts away.

A butterfly fluttered around them, probably drawn by the scent of their food, and landed lightly on Peter’s shoulder. The younger boy stilled, but it fluttered up and away once more, only to land back down on the almost-finished apple in his hands. The blinding smile he gave Wade could have rivaled the very sun shining down upon them. 

He’d do anything to keep seeing that beautiful smile, he realized, and in that moment Wade made a silent promise to himself that he would try not to sabotage this.

If a voice in the back of his mind reminded him he didn’t have to _try_ , he did enough by simply existing, he simply ignored it. He was getting good at doing that these days.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We got there folks!! They're officially together! Geez, took them long enough.
> 
> I want to just warn everyone in advance that the rating will be bumping up to E for the next update after this one. ;)
> 
> Enjoy!!

**_One Month Later_ **

Wade rubbed at his aching back and Peter glanced up at him, noting the movement from his tucked position against Wade’s side.

“I know,” he sympathized, “we all hate this part. But it won’t be much longer now.”

While Wade ached with the long hours of their journey, Peter, on the other hand, was practically buzzing beside him in anticipation of their imminent arrival in New York.

They’d started to reach more homes spread out throughout the waning countryside, which would soon give way to the built-up city. Children of all ages waved and hollered, taking a break from working the farms and fields as they passed. The parents here didn’t hum in disapproval or annoyance, they merely allowed their kids a few minutes of excitement they normally didn’t find in their day.

As they continued on, closer and closer to their destination, the excitement and apprehension built in Wade’s stomach. Usually he felt nothing but fear and dread arriving in a new town; worried if he’d find enough work to survive, or if he’d draw too much unwanted attention to himself and need to flee in the night. Now, though, since joining Stark’s menagerie, he felt a lighter feeling. Still nervous, because New York was a huge city with a ton of people in it, and that wouldn’t ever _not_ make him nervous, but less so than he normally would have felt. He knew he had a place to stay, a place that accepted him, and he wasn’t so much worried about drawing attention to himself when he was surrounded by everyone else who took that attention willingly.

There was always the uncertainty of what kind of town they were visiting, of course, but Peter had mentioned that New York had always received them quite positively; hence Stark’s revisitation. So while he still felt that lingering apprehension, it was a comfort to know they had experience in this town and felt comfortable coming back.

Plus, a good handful of them had once called this city home, for better or worse.

They stalled lunch until they hit the innards of the city. Wade had been with the circus a full month now; they’d run a handful of days through the tail end of Ohio then used the rest of the month to travel and put on shows through Pennsylvania in order to get to New York which they were now soon to arrive at.

The stares of awe and wonder followed them as Stark led them through the city and beyond to the spot where they would set up the circus. There was a nice open patch of land the mayor had been planning to use to expand the city but had not yet been put to use. As he’d thoroughly enjoyed the show whenever they came, he’d allowed them to continue to use it as long as it wasn’t being worked on, or so Peter narrated as they trotted along through the city, his fingers threaded in between Wade’s gloved ones. Apparently a year wasn’t long enough to have started anything, so the space was theirs once more.

Once they arrived, Stark gave out loose orders (although everyone knew what had to be done by now) before he went to go shake hands with and thank the Mayor. He winked as Wade passed by him, “I like keeping him on my good side, and if that means a few hours of dull talk and schmoozing, so be it.” With that he tipped his hat and trotted Jarvis off back the way they’d come.

Wade was starting to see a pattern; Stark had the perfect knack for finding anything that could get him out of setting up the circus… even so much as going to rub elbows with the very people he hated. He couldn’t blame the guy, it was hard fucking work. It even gave his own healing factor a run for his money.

With that thought, Wade went to go make himself useful. 

It wasn’t long before he found somewhere to help; Wanda called him over to assist them, and he spent the rest of the day building the makeshift stalls they used to house the animals, so they could sleep, eat, and move around comfortably in the times when they weren’t in a performance on stage.

Wanda and her brother, Pietro, took amazing care of the animals. They treated them with as much respect as they would a person and Wade slowly found himself liking the two quiet twins for it. You could easily tell who a person was by their treatment of innocent creatures. 

He found over the weeks that had unfurled that they’d slowly been allowing him to help more and more in regards to the animals; something they didn’t extend to many beyond themselves. He felt honored by their trust, and often went to them first to see if there was anything he could help with. It didn’t hurt that he’d taken a particular fondness to the white mare named Amnesty and always made sure to bring her treats when he was around.

By the time the sun was beginning to set, hinting at night time, the circus was half-erected; minus the big top, which they were saving for tomorrow when they’d all had a good night's rest. They’d need all hands on deck for that task tomorrow. 

Stark had made it back just before the sun had decided to set and encouraged everyone to wrap up for the night. He brought with him food the Mayor had bestowed upon them as a welcome back gift; Stark had the cooks working on it as soon as he’d arrived back, and the delicious smell of the large feast wafted out across the clearing causing everyone's mouths to water and their temptation to continue on to wane.

Eventually everyone began calling it a night, one by one, and convened around the large fire that had been built to light up the darkness of the night, and keep the chill out of the breezy summer night.

Wanda and Pietro eventually headed over to join the others, leaving Wade alone with the animals. Wade wasn’t particularly hungry yet; he often wasn’t when they first arrived in a new place. The nerves that churned within him combined with the ache of his over used muscles didn’t mix well with a full belly.

Wade ended up removing his gloves because he was alone and because it was easier to do his tasks without them. He spent some time brushing out Amnesty, letting her prod him for treats she’d long since gobbled up, checking she had enough food and water for the night.

Fireflies began to peek out through the evening's darkness around him, and the soft sounds of merriment in the distance carried across the clearing. It was soothing, and soon he was in his own world as he felt his nerves slowly ebb away. He was brought back to the world, however, when soft footsteps came up behind him.

Normally someone coming up behind him like that would have had the line of his back tense, and his flight or fight response flaring; but Wade already knew who it was. He glanced over his shoulder, and yes, there he was, the beautiful boy he’d started to call his.

He hovered several feet away before Wade beckoned him closer.

Peter shook his head slightly, and his unruly curls bounced with the movement. 

“I only came to ask if you’d like me to save you something,” and his soft voice carried in the lull of chatter from the group gathered across the clearing behind them. Bless his heart and his ability to somehow come to know so many of the discombobulated parts of Wade in such a short time.

Wade shook his head, smiling, “I’ll wait for breakfast tomorrow. Thanks, baby boy.”

Peter blushed, as he always did when the older man used that particular nickname for him, and made to turn around.

“Wait,” Wade called, not wanting Peter to leave just yet, and left Amnesty with a soft pat and a silent promise to be back.

He walked over to Peter, who looked up as Wade approached with a fond smile playing on his lips.

Wade glanced over to the fire, feeling safe enough with everyone occupied around it to pull his mask off all the way. He tucked it for safekeeping into his back pocket and grabbed at Peter’s hand.

The look on Peter’s face was worth the uncomfortable exposure. Like he couldn’t believe Wade trusted him with this. Wade did, of course, even if he had to fight himself every step of the way, but Wade still held such abhorrent feelings towards his outward appearance. It was hard to let others see that part of him, even Peter. He could count on one hand the amount of times in this past month he’d allowed Peter to see him with his mask off; always after dark, and only ever when they were alone. 

The first time had been a week and a half after their first kiss. Wade had been rifling through his clothes, half of them still bloody which was a problem, honestly, when Peter had snuck up on him. He could be dead silent when he wanted to be, sometimes not even meaning to be, and Wade had tensed hard, realizing he’d chucked his mask and gloves aside while he changed. He’d just been dizzyingly grateful those were the only articles of clothes he’d taken off. He wasn’t ready for Peter to see the full on horror show beneath everything he covered up with. 

Wade hadn’t turned around, but Peter hadn’t left. He’d only crept closer until he could press the faintest touch against his back and tell him, “There’s nothing I don’t like about you, Wade. This included.”

They’d ended up pressed along the side of a wagon, Peter’s soft hands grasping at the back of Wade’s rough, scarred, bald head as he’d gasped against his lips; and Wade let himself succumb to the inevitability of it all. 

That brought them to this moment; Wade forcing himself to break down another barrier he’d erected to keep everyone out, because that was the last place he wanted Peter to be. He wanted this man with the kindest soul as close to him as he could get. 

They were still working up to that part.

He pressed the barest whisper of a kiss to the soft skin along the back of the hand now cradled in his, and tugged Peter along towards where he’d just left the pretty mare.

The twinkle that had been bright in Peter’s eye from Wade’s flirting dimmed and he resisted, protesting.

“They don’t really like me,” Peter admitted in a soft voice, as if ashamed. “I think it has something to do with my mutation.”

Wade let up on his insistent tugging, but kept their hands clasped together.

He looked down at Peter in disbelief, and with his mask off now Peter was able to read the expression easily. Peter glanced quickly towards the mare only a foot or so from them then shrugged, eyes downcast dejectedly.

“Honey,” and Wade tried to put it into words that weren’t as horrible as the ones running through his head, “I look like someone literally ran over me, then tried to burn the evidence. Your mutation doesn’t bother them. Trust me.”

Peter looked up stubbornly. The glint in his eye sent a thrill through Wade. “Alright, what is it then?”

Wade tugged him closer still, walking backwards so he could keep an eye on Peter. The closer they got though, Peter’s hesitation heightened and even Wade could tell he looked nervous.

Amnesty snorted suddenly, tail swishing in annoyance at Wade being so close yet so far; not giving her the attention she so clearly desired. Wade glanced back at her irritated snort, and Peter’s hand slipped out of his suddenly as he nearly jumped back several steps quickly.

Wade laughed, and the sound was free and clear in a way it never would have been a month ago. Right, as if Wade had _ever_ laughed back then.

Peter was looking at him as if he’d hung the moon, and was still working on the stars. Wade wasn’t used to those looks yet. They surprised him every time, and often brought too many memories of another pair of eyes that had used to gaze up at him so similarly. 

“Well, I figured it out.” Wade said decisively, with a step or so forward so he could pet Amnesty, and she whinnied softly at the attention.

“Oh, really?” Peter raised a challenging eyebrow from his safe distance away.

“Yup,” Wade told him smugly, drawing the end of the word out in a pop just to be annoying. It worked, if Peter’s crossed arms were any indication.

Wade turned towards the mare so Peter wouldn’t see his smile. Sometimes the mask was nice for things he wanted to hide, like his amusement at the adorably huffy man in front of him.

“ _Well?_ ” 

“It’s you,” Wade told him simply, glancing back at Peter.

Peter rolled his eyes, “I already told you that!”

“No,” Wade argued with a shake of his head, “ _you_ said it was your mutation.”

Peter furrowed his brows in confusion. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

“No, because you’re clearly scared of them.”

“I am not,” he replied indignantly. 

“Okay,” Wade shrugged, “then you’re uneasy around them. Nervous.”

“So?” Peter challenged, “ _I_ am because _they_ are with me _.”_

Wade sighed, “They can feel that, Peter. It makes them feel the same way.”

Peter looked at Wade skeptically.

Wade took a moment to think, trying to figure out how to explain what he knew to be true of animals. How he’d often felt around people, too. That ability to feel their intention towards him, or their fear, their malice. It radiated off of people, even if they weren’t aware of it.

Everything in the line of Peter’s body was projecting his nerves, so naturally the animals were weary of him.

“Think of it,” Wade decided on finally, “as the same way your senses work. You don’t know how or why you sense something is coming, you just do. It’s similar with people for them. They can sense your discomfort around them, even if you believe it’s because they don’t like you, and in turn it makes _them_ uncomfortable. It’s an endless cycle… you just have to take one of those leaps of faith you’re so good at. They won’t harm you, darlin’, but they don’t know if you mean to harm them.”

Peter’s face softened, and he must have trusted, if not believed, what Wade was saying because he stepped closer until Wade could reach out and run a bare, scarred thumb down his cheek, his strong jaw, drawing back to rub across his bottom lip. Peter’s eyes fluttered and he stepped a tiny bit closer still. Wade trailed the exploring hand down across his collarbone, towards his shoulder, and tucked him gently along his broad side; being mindful to keep him on the side farthest from Amnesty.

“When you put it that way…” came his soft voice from Wade’s side.

“Give me your hand,” Wade requested just as softly, and after a beat Peter lifted a slightly trembling hand.

With the arm not holding Peter close, he guided their joined hands, his on top, towards the mellow mare. She shifted on her hooves, and Peter tensed.

“Hey,” Wade nuzzled down into the curly brown forest of Peter’s hair so he could whisper soothingly in his ear, “I won’t let anything happen to you. She won’t hurt you.”

This close together Wade could hear and feel Peter’s gulp of trepidation, but the sweet man allowed Wade to continue his mission until their hands rested gently in between Amnesty’s ears. It was her favorite spot to be pet, and Wade knew she’d be won over by Peter instantly just like he’d been.

He let the boy tucked at his side pet her at his own pace, shifting them ever so slowly all the while until Peter unknowingly faced Amnesty fully. He was tucked along Wade’s front now, instead of his side, and Wade rested his head lightly atop Peter’s, letting himself enjoy this moment.

He’d been doing that more often; trying to absorb and keep these good moments in order to battle against the bad ones that still tried to resurface too often. Over the past month he’d gained quite a collection.

Amnesty grew bored of the petting eventually and snuffled closer to Peter, prodding at him for treats. Peter pushed back along Wade’s front in fright, and Wade chuckled softly.

“She’s a glutton, this one. Quite like you,” he teased. “She’s only looking for a treat.”

“I don’t have anyth—Wait, actually…” He fumbled in his pocket for a moment, “I have an apple.” 

He pulled out a small, green apple and looked over his shoulder bashfully, “I’d brought it for you, but…”

Wade kissed the top of Peter’s head, unable to keep his affection for this man contained. “You can give it to her. I’ll be fine.”

Peter smiled, but it fell as he glanced towards the mare, who was eager now that she’d seen and smelled the apple.

“How do I…?” Peter began to ask, unsure.

Wade took a hand from where they’d been unknowingly cradling the smaller man's hips, and grabbed the hand holding the apple. 

“Like this,” he instructed, flattening out the digits Peter had wrapped around the apple, until it was laid atop his flat palm.

“She might nibble a bit for it, but she won’t bite.”

Peter let out a breath at that, as if steeling himself, then nodded, trusting Wade wholeheartedly as he extended his hand towards Amnesty. Wade’s heart couldn’t possibly hold any more love for this man if he tried.

He tensed suddenly, startling himself out of the scene in front of him. The night’s darkness seemed to surround him, and he felt it bearing down, suffocating him—

Peter laughed, unaware of Wade’s rigid posture behind him as Amnesty nibbled along his palm. “It tickles!” 

Peter scolded her lightly as she continued searching for food, then moved his hand, of his own accord, to run down her gorgeous white mane.

The encompassing buzzing receded from Wade’s mind with the sound of the laughter, and when Peter flashed another bright happy smile over his shoulder he found himself calming down.

So what if he loved this man? Certainly everyone deserved a second chance in life, right? Even someone as scarred and emotionally damaged as Wade.

He still couldn’t fully shove the thought of what losing this for a second time would do to him. He wouldn’t find out, he resolved. He’d do everything in his power to protect the man in his arms. 

He wouldn’t let himself make the same damn mistake twice.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And on the tenth chapter she said, let's get that E rating! If you're not into that, I suggest skipping this chapter and waiting for the next one.
> 
> But like, the boys (and us) deserve this after such a long wait.
> 
> Enjoy!!

Peter let himself fall back against the warmth of Wade as he continued to pet the pretty creature in front of him.

How suddenly an apprehension he’d had for years around these animals seemed to melt away at the presence and patience of this man. Peter still wasn't sure if it had been his senses, or just an innate feeling, but all those weeks ago back in that bar in Illinois something had told him, despite his gruff demeanor, Wade had the sweetest soul. 

He’d been right, and had gotten to experience it first hand as it unfolded more and more; days turning into weeks turning into a full month already. 

If Peter were honest, Wade was almost being _too_ sweet. They’d exchanged enough kisses to keep his mouth tingling for hours, but only at the end of their long days, when they’d been near exhausted from the day's work, and always away from everyone else. He’d never joined Wade in his tent, or anywhere that could get remotely horizontal, really. With each kiss they shared Peter longed for it; for Wade to take his hand and lead him somewhere they could explore each other more comfortably, more privately. But it still hadn’t happened, and Peter was getting just a tad bit impatient.

He didn’t want to push Wade, of course, but he was starting to think this was a particular move _he’d_ need to make. Almost as if Wade was waiting for _Peter_ , when in reality the younger man had no idea how to take this further. He had no experience beyond what he’d slowly learned with Wade, which so far only included some amazing kissing and well-placed groping. 

Wade's scarred hands felt amazing running over the sensitive skin of his stomach, hand tentatively creeping under the shirt Peter usually left untucked, intentionally invitingly, but never went further. They’d tease and dance across his dimpled lower back, but wouldn’t trail lower; lower to a place Peter had never touched himself, but ached for Wade to. 

Peter had tried to replicate the feeling those hands on him stirred. At night, in privacy, he’d trail his hands along the same paths Wade’s had found but it only brought frustration; it didn’t feel the same, and Peter didn’t want it to. He didn’t dare go farther, unsure of what to do anyway, and wanting Wade to be the one to show him how. The thought made him blush red even while alone in the darkness, and he grew hot with the image it conjured of Wade taking him fully.

He was a pro at fantasizing about it now, as he gripped himself late at night and imagined it was Wade. Peter often came with the man’s name on his lips and the desire to jump from his bed to go find him. He didn’t, of course, but there had been a few close calls.

Tonight, however… He didn’t want to wait any longer to go further into the unknown. If Wade gave any indication he wasn’t okay with the progression, Peter would gladly stop. But if indeed all he was waiting for was Peter’s cue, well then, they’d both be in for something other than light groping this evening. 

Peter gave one last final pet to Amnesty, mind made up, before turning himself around in Wade’s arms.

He slid his hands up Wade’s chest to grip behind his ears and tug the taller man down into a kiss. Their lips slotted together, and it never got old to hear the low choked-out moan that left Wade whenever Peter was the one to initiate a kiss. 

Peter had gotten good at this part in these past few weeks. Tongue less clumsy now, more sure. He’d found exactly what it took to get Wade’s hands to tighten near bruising around his waist. He nipped at the taller man’s lower lip, pulling gently before soothing it quickly with a swipe of his tongue. He nearly smirked as he felt those large hands come to rest predictably along his hips. Those hands pulled Peter closer until they were chest to chest, and Peter’s head tilted farther up into the heated kiss.

Wade kissed like he was exploring Peter for the first time, always. Like he didn’t want to do anything that would cause Peter to change his mind. Peter, late at night, often fantasized about what it would take to get Wade to throw caution to the wind and take what _he_ wanted, Peter be damned. 

Peter was so used to being stronger than everyone else, asked to do things no one else could, that he often pandered what it would feel like to be normal, weaker; what it would feel like to have Wade dominate him, hold him down, unable to break free. They were thoughts he only let himself explore late at night, but lately he couldn't stop them from bleeding into the daylight hours; thinking of them more and more whenever he looked at Wade. 

He moaned into Wade’s mouth at the thought, and he was suddenly pushed back against the wooden slats of Amnesty’s pen. _Yes,_ Peter thought through the surge of arousal. That was exactly what he was after. He wanted Wade to crowd over him, hold him down, keep him held in place while he—

A particularly loud laugh echoed across the clearing and Wade’s head popped up, breaking their kiss, to glance over his shoulder. Worriedly. Nervously.

He still hadn’t been seen without his mask by anyone other than Tony and Peter. They hadn’t talked further about what Peter had mentioned in the train a month ago, and Peter didn’t want to prod the man about something he clearly didn’t want to bring up.

But Peter was tired of getting interrupted by their rather loudmouthed companions.

Peter grabbed Wade’s hand, taking the lead and making a decision. He led Wade through the darkness towards his wagon, passing far enough away from the fire and into the shadows so no one would see them and feel the need to make a comment; like he knew they’d be bound to do if they caught sight of them. Which would be a sure way to get Wade to retreat away from him, so he took great care in being as stealthy as he could.

When he finally reached his destination, however, Peter felt less sure. The blazing desire of the kiss had worn off in his determined stride, even if the arousal still curled deep within his belly. 

He really had no idea what he was doing, but... Aunt May hadn’t raised a quitter.

He glanced coyly at Wade, dropping his hand and leaning back against the wagon he called his. He ran a hand slowly down his front, face heating at his forwardness but continuing on. Wade’s eyes followed the trail his hand made, and once it was down far enough he let it rest there. Right over where it was most obvious how much the other man was affecting him.

He bit at his lip and looked up through his lashes at him. He _needed_ Wade to take the proverbial ropes, here, because Peter had no practice with these kinds. 

“Please, Wade,” he breathed out into the silence between them. Wade groaned and took the bait. He swayed closer, crowding Peter up against the wood of the wagon, trapping the little trapeze artist with his large biceps on either side of his head.

He pressed a fierce kiss to Peter's lips then, clearly affected by the begging; one hand cradling the back of his head so it wouldn't thud against the wood painfully, although he took such great care to gently tilt Peter’s mouth up to reach his own he honestly needn’t worry about that. 

_Yes, yes, please_ , he thought frantically, _take it, take me. I want you to._

“Fuck,” Wade groaned agaisnt his lips as if in pain. And perhaps Peter hadn’t been thinking those words after all, but rather panted them desperately against Wade’s lips. 

The hoarseness of that one word ran a thrill down Peter’s spine, at knowing Wade was just as turned on as he was, and suddenly it wasn’t enough. Wade’s lips were amazing, heavenly even, knowing just how to slot perfectly against Peter's own, but he needed more.

He needed more of Wade’s skin against his own, more of Wade’s large hands running all over him. Need burned through him, and he just knew less clothes was the answer to quelling the racing fire in his veins.

His hands worked deftly to free Wade’s shirt from where it was tucked into his britches all proper like, which a lot of the men here didn’t bother with, but Wade’s lips slipped from his, then, and he leaned over to rest his forehead along the wood beside Peter’s head. His heavy breathing sounded loud in Peter’s ears, but no louder than his own heartbeat pounding within them. Wade’s hands reached down to encase his own, stopping Peter in his mission of ridding Wade from his shirt.

“Let me? Please?” Peter’s near-begging whisper hung in the air between them. Despite whispering, it sounded too loud in the space between them and he was suddenly afraid everyone could hear him and his desperation. In reality they wouldn’t be heard over the distant buzz of conversation and the owls hooting their nightly conversation from within the trees, but he still worried. He'd die of embarrassment if anyone ever knew how desperate Wade made him, but these feelings and desires bubbling up in him now were new, and it was so hard to ask for something he’d never experienced before. 

Not even when he and Constantine had been in this same position had he felt this way, when the tattooed man's lips had accidentally brushed Peter’s neck drunkenly that one time. Then it had been but a small curiosity, a ping of arousal, a mere flame compared to the all encompassing wave of fire that now burned within him just from Wade’s considerable form bracketing him.

The confindes of his trousers became uncomfortably tighter as he hardened steadily with each kiss they shared, fueled by the thoughts that continued to manifest in his creative, over-thinking mind.

Peter’s enhanced eyesight made it easy to see the emotions filtering across Wade’s face in the moment. There was arousal, naturally, but also hesitation and worry. The ridges of his eyebrows were drawn together in thought, and Peter gave him the time to come to a decision. 

He’d accept whatever Wade decided, even if they wouldn’t go farther tonight. He’d be disappointed, of course, but he only wanted what Wade was ready to offer. He’d waited so long to find someone like Wade, Peter could be patient. It might hurt to have come this far and have to stop, but it wouldn’t kill him. 

Maybe.

“Alright,” Wade finally decided, and Peter nearly sighed in relief. He kissed Peter quickly, as if punctuating his decision, “up you go, little spider.”

Peter shivered at the deep command, and the way the man’s rough, scarred hands physically turned him around and helped him scramble up and over the lip of the wagon. Thankfully they’d used the day to unload all of the equipment from them, so this one had been empty and ready for him to use tonight for sleeping and, well, other things. He’d hoped, anyway. They could have gone back to Wade’s tent, sure, but it was too close to everyone else, and he knew neither one of them would have been comfortable with that. If Peter were being honest, he didn’t want to have to worry about being quiet tonight.

They were farther away here, and no one would have a reason to wander by. No one would hear them or the activities they were about to engage in.

It was habit to light the lamp he kept by his bed for when he stayed up late with his books, because even he wasn’t going to risk hurting his eyes from reading in the dark, enhanced eyes or no. After it was lit, he quickly arranged a few blankets on his bed and hoped it made it look more inviting. Comfy enough to lay down in, even.

Peter took a few deep, calming breaths.

Okay, this was about to happen. He could do this. He wasn’t panicking, no, not him. He tucked his hands under his armpits to hide their slight tremble.

He heard Wade lift himself up and into the wagon behind him, and after one last steadying inhale Peter turned around.

Wade was just a tad too tall for the space and had to duck forward while standing. Seeing Wade loom in his personal space, where he slept and dreamt and had fantasies about the very man standing right there...

Suddenly sheepish, Peter glanced down, not wanting Wade to see him freaking out. 

The man seemed to intuitively know what was running through Peter’s mind, though, and reached out to tilt his chin up until their eyes met. His blue eyes regarded Peter with nothing but intense understanding, and perhaps a glint of the lust that seemed to spark between them whenever they were remotely close to one another.

“Peter,” Wade reminded him gently, “we don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Peter shook his head, stubborn as always. “I want this. I just…”

Peter wet his lips from nervousness and Wade’s thumb moved to stroke distractedly across the spot his tongue had just been, rubbing the wetness it’d left behind into his bottom lip.

The heat rose within him at the action, and he whispered, “I don’t know what to ask for.”

“You’ve never—?” Wade asked in a voice deep with want, stepping closer, and his thumb pressed unconsciously harder against Peter’s bottom lip, causing his mouth to open a smidge wider. Peter wanted Wade to press in farther, so he could taste the texture of that thumb with his tongue.

He shook his head, words dried up in his throat, remembering belatedly that Wade had asked him a question.

“Not even with Constantine?” Wade’s voice beheld jealousy, and it filtered through Peter’s haze of arousal. He blinked up at the other man, the question catching him off guard.

“W-what?” he croaked.

Wade’s hand slipped from his lip, and Peter nearly keened at the loss. His head bent further, as if ashamed of what he’d asked.

“I see how he looks at you, sometimes.” Wade admitted to the floor below, eyes refusing to look at Peter. So much was held within that simple sentence, and Peter felt an ache within his heart at Wade possibly comparing himself to anyone else. He didn’t need to, it was ridiculous because… 

“Wade.” He pressed himself closer to the other man, lamplight flickering their shadows into one, and confessed, “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

He felt rather than saw the shiver that went through Wade at the admittance. _Good_ , Peter thought, wanting them to get back on track. He didn’t want to talk about Constantine, of all people. He wanted…

_Screw it_ , Peter thought suddenly. He may not have known what to ask for, but he knew what he wanted to do, at least. So his hands found where they’d started to travel before. Wade’s shirt was still partially untucked from earlier, hanging loose and long over his britches, taunting Peter as if it knew of his inexperience. He fisted the fabric in a silent ask of permission. Wade tensed, and drew away, and Peter stood there feeling a little too rejected for someone who had been determined to be okay with whatever Wade chose.

But all Wade had gone to do was blow out the lamp’s flame, dousing them into darkness. Then he drew his own shirt up and off, finishing the job Peter had started. 

He threw it forgottenly to the side and Peter’s jaw nearly joined it on the floor. Wade was impressively ripped. _How_ did he manage that? Not even Peter, with all his twisting and flipping and soaring through the air on a constant basis, could manage to get his stomach to look as chiseled as Wade’s.

He moved closer without realizing it and his hand wandered in fascination down Wade’s abs. This part of Wade was just as scarred as everywhere else. Some spots seemed more gnarled than others, with deeper pockets of scar tissue twisting painfully, pulling tight and taut in other far tender-looking spots. 

He fingered the outline of one such spot. “Does it hurt?” Peter wondered aloud, eyes scanning across the naked abdomen, torso, shoulders in front of him; everywhere was undeniably muscular and scarred. 

Wade jolted, and it drew him farther away from the exploring hand.

“I-I hadn’t realized—” Wade stammered, cutting himself off as he reached down to find his shirt.

Peter stood confused for a moment, then cursed himself as he realized. It was impossibly dark in the wagon; the moon was gone in the sky tonight, clouds having obscured it’s helpful silver moonlight. There was no explaining how Peter would have been able to see Wade in the pitch black darkness, except for the truth.

“I have enhanced eyesight from my mutation.” Peter admitted guiltily. He hadn’t even harbored the thought of Wade only letting himself be vulnerable with Peter because of the obscuring darkness. Peter was so used to being able to see far better in dim lit settings, he often forgot others didn’t have the same ability. 

A sadness washed over Peter at the thought that Wade still didn’t trust him enough with this. Then an even bigger feeling of passion rose in him to show Wade that Peter didn’t care about his scars. Peter was attracted to _Wade_ , every part of him; the inside _and_ the outside.

“Wade...” Peter stopped the other man’s extended arm with a well placed hand before he could grab the shirt. He tugged him back to standing, but Wade stubbornly refused to look at him.

Peter’s turn to press a hand along the side of Wade’s face in reassurance, caressing down his sharp jaw until it reached his chin. He tilted it up so he could look into those ocean eyes.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Peter assured him. “Since the moment I saw you… I’ve only ever seen _you,_ Wade.”

He leaned up, hands resting along Wade’s pecs, to brush a kiss across the man’s lips. 

Peter wasn’t sure if Wade would believe him in words only, so he guided their hands, clasped together, to the bottom of his own shirt and encouraged him to lift it up and off him. Leaving Peter just as half-naked as Wade, but feeling twice as stripped bare. 

“I’ve wanted you,” Peter admitted the thought he’d had since that first zing of _something_ between them so long ago in that bar, “since the moment I saw you.”

That was all it took. The dirty secret he’d held within him that, if he’d been able to, Peter would have been with Wade since the very first time their eyes had met. Hell, he’d briefly had the thought of climbing up into Wade’s lap in that moment at the bar, regardless of them being strangers to one another. Regardless of Mr. Stark having been _right there next to them._

Wade growled, bringing them flush together and the texture of his chest rubbing against his own had him gasping into a kiss; a kiss he’d never experienced from Wade before, dominating and pillaging as it was. Peter felt his dick jump, leaking neglected in the confines of his pants, as Wade’s tongue licked the roof of his mouth.

The kiss shifted as his lips ran along Peter’s jaw. One hand wrapped possessively around a hip while the other migrated up into the curly hair at the nape of his neck, using the fine hair there to move it to the side gently, despite the grip, to gain easier access to the tender skin behind his ear.

Peter’s knees nearly gave out, eyes fluttering shut, and he reached out to hold onto Wade’s biceps. His hands felt small laid out on them, unable to wrap his hands around the muscles found there.

He took Wade’s enthusiasm as an invitation to explore and he let his fingers dance over the muscle he found; fingers gliding playfully over rippled, textured skin. Some of it felt soft, scars old and shiny with age. He tried to avoid anything that seemed painful, but if he was honest he wasn’t paying attention enough to be very mindful. Wade nipping kisses down his neck was the best kind of distraction and, wow, Peter hadn’t known how pleasurable that part of his body could feel. 

Wade leaned down further to give attention to one of his nipples, tongue circling, and Peter nearly tripped over the edge of the cot behind him, barely catching himself on Wade’s wide shoulders. 

It didn’t matter, though, because it gave Wade the idea to push him down, and suddenly they were kneeling on his bed, torso’s flush against one another, arms wrapped around each other and Peter’s sure he had a fantasy that started just like this once—

Peter was ripped from that thought, moaning as a bolt of pleasure-pain struck him when Wade’s head bent forward to bite down on his other nipple, clearly not forgotten. 

Okay, now Peter was unbearably hard and his pants needed to be off like yesterday. He leaned back along the mattress, letting go of Wade with a small twinge of regret, but it was necessary, alright? They needed to be more naked _right now._ He used the position to unbutton his pants, but Wade was still between his legs and that just wouldn’t do, he needed to get with the picture and _help_.

“Wade,” he panted up at the other man, back arching as his hands shoved his britches down, undergarments and all, because Peter wasn’t playing. Wade got the idea, then, and maneuvered himself away so he could help the younger man rid himself of his pants and shoes.

Peter blushed, never having been this exposed in front of another person before, but persisted on through his embarrassment and ran a teasing hand along his own torso, down a taut abdomen, to grip himself and give one long, drawn-out jerk.

If Wade wanted to stay frozen in the darkness, moonlight flickering in and out as the clouds breezed by, as he watched the outline of Peter grip himself, then so be it. If Wade wanted to watch, then Peter was prepared to put on a show. He was good at doing that, after all. Did it for a living, even.

He licked his lips as he tightened his grip along his length, gathering the precum he found at the head with his palm to get an easy slide going. He glanced meaningfully down at Wade’s pants, and his eyes nearly widened at the rather intimidating outline he saw there.

His hand stuttered in its rhythm, and his mouth went dry with want.

Alright new goal. Peter leaned up, and his hands went to the fastening found on Wade’s pants, unbuttoning it swiftly. He leaned over to brush a kiss just above the waistband of the now-opened pants, looking up with an impish expression.

The clothes dropped from Wade’s hand as if on fire and he pushed Peter gently but determinedly back along the mattress with one large hand.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Wade felt the need to tell him, the statement punctuated with nipping kisses along his ribs that lead farther down to a lavishing tongue along his hip bones.

“G-good thing you can’t die then,” Peter reminded him, voice near breathless.

And hadn’t that been a rather startling, yet enlightening conversation. It had been a few days after Wade had fallen off the train, a few days after their first kiss. Peter had wandered over to Wade’s tent in search of him, only to find it empty. Well, empty of Wade, that was.

His briefcase had been open within the tent, as if forgotten, and the bloody shirt he’d worn that day was tossed haphazardly inside. A horrible reminder of all the blood and pain that had filled that day; for Wade _and_ for Peter.

Wade had managed to creep up behind Peter, without his senses alerting him, and informed him, “I just talked to Stark about getting a few new shirts. I certainly can’t wear that one anymore.”

Peter had startled, afraid Wade would be mad at his accidental snooping, but he’d just stood casually behind Peter, face indecipherable behind the mask.

“I wouldn’t want you to.” He agreed with a shake of his head. “That was…”

His voice trailed off. He didn’t want to remember that day. It was a painful memory, only ever bringing panicked thoughts of how he nearly lost something before he ever got the chance to call it his.

“Peter,” Wade rubbed at the back of his masked head, clearly uncomfortable. “I wanted to talk to you about that, actually. In regards to what happened.”

He’d ended up telling Peter that night that not only did he have a major healing factor, he simply _couldn’t die._ Peter had blinked, confused. How was that even possible? 

Wade had answered a few of his questions, dodging others that clearly hit too close to home that he hadn’t been ready to answer yet.

And while of course it concerned Peter, it was also reassuring at the same time. To have a loved one who wouldn’t leave him like all the rest had, even if it hadn’t been their faults...

Peter was brought out of his thoughts and back to the present with teeth scraping along a protruding hip bone. He gasped at the nerve-endings that fizzled with the touch. If Wade turned his head just a _tad_ bit more, he’d be up close and personal with Peter’s dick. Which he wanted with a burning desire, but not yet.

Wade still hadn’t taken his pants off, and Peter had transcended wanting Wade’s pants off into a mighty need. He _needed_ Wade as naked as he was.

He propped himself up on his forearms to look down at Wade and say, “You can’t distract me into forgetting you’ve still got your pants on.”

“Of course not.” Wade’s chuckle dragged along his stomach, and he dropped a kiss beside his belly button. “Once you’ve got your mind made up, you don’t lose focus.”

He pinked a little at that, at how easy in these passing weeks Wade had come to know Peter and his determined, rather steadfast personality. How much time he spent watching Peter, learning him.

It was all the observing Wade tended to do. He often looked unassuming, keeping to himself, which made it seem like he wasn’t paying attention when it was actually quite the opposite. In reality, he was good at assessing people.

Peter had been watching him, too.

“I’ve found it works in my favor.” Peter shifted his weight onto one arm so he could run a palm over Wade’s bald head affectionately. “It got me you.”

Wade tilted his head to place a kiss onto the center of his palm.

He lifted himself up, up, up, towering over Peter. He looked so damn tall at this angle; broad and huge and powerful.

Peter couldn’t help the twitch his cock gave at the thought, and was so thankful Wade was busy shoving his pants down to notice how much harder Peter had just gotten admiring the view.

Then, Wade was just as naked and _oh God—_

Peter’s first thought was that there was _no way_ Wade was going to fit, ever. He was _gigantic;_ long and thick, and Peter was pretty sure that was _not_ a standard size.

His certainly didn’t look like that, even if you disregarded the scars ridging up and down the length. 

His breath stuttered, and Wade crouched back down over him. He kissed Peter then, as if noticing the irregularity of his breathing from his overthinking thoughts and sheer inexperience merging when into a spiral of panic, and he said, soothingly into the dark:

“We won’t do anything you’re not ready for tonight. I promise.”

He leaned back down and Peter pressed into the kiss, but—

“I want it. With you.”

The kiss deepened, then, and when they parted both their breaths came faster. Wade rested his forehead along Peter’s own and reassured, “There’s plenty of things to do before then. We need to be prepared before we go further, anyway.”

Peter blushed, and Wade, even in the darkness, seemed to know because he sounded remorseful as he nearly pouted, “I wish I could see how far down that blush goes.” A finger pressed along his collarbone, trailing further down.

“We could light the lamp,” Peter suggested, feeling guilty that he was able to see Wade far better than Wade could see him.

The other man tensed before his head shook. “No. This is fine.”

A thought occurred to him that Wade wasn’t able to see _himself_ in the dark either. Perhaps it wasn’t about being able to see Peter, then. Oh, he may have wished to see him, but he was taking shelter in the dark from seeing his own body.

Peter vowed to make it his mission to help Wade see himself in a different light _within_ the light. He’d do it. He was pretty determined, after all, and had great incentive. He’d often wondered what it would feel like to have sex under the stage lights; bright and blinding and thrilling. Keeping an ear out for anyone who wandered close by. He’d gone so far as to imagine himself on his aerial hoop, even. Wade would have no problem holding him up as he—

“You still with me?” Wade’s amused voice filtered through his distracting thoughts. “What are ya thinkin’ ‘bout that’s got you so quiet?” 

Peter swallowed. No way was he going to admit to the thoughts that had just flashed filthily across his mind.

“This,” he decided to say instead, a little more confident than he felt, and reached to wrap his hand around Wade’s thick hardness. His fingers barely met when they wrapped around it, and he stroked fast once, twice, three times before a tremor ran through Wade and his hand covered his to stop him.

“It’s, uh, been a while,” Wade breathed along his shoulder where he had curled over at the first tug of Peter’s hand. He licked at the skin that met there by his neck, and Peter’s hand went loose as his own pleasure washed over him.

“Let’s just, mmm, go slower.” Wade suggested, moaning as his hips lowered so their dicks could slide together in a way that had Peter’s eyes rolling into the back of his head. It felt amazing, and the ridged texture of Wade’s scars there only added to the sensation. 

Both of them were dripping enough that it caused a delightfully wet slide, but not enough friction. Wade fixed that as he grabbed Peter’s hand with his own and put it back where it had been; this time, though, attempting to wrap around both of them.

Peter’s hand was doing a laughable job at moving along both of them, but Wade’s wrapped around them just fine, and so Peter planted his feet, using his ability to keep from sliding, and made it his job to help the friction along by providing little thrusts of his hips.

His hand left Wade’s to wrap around his shoulders, bringing their chests together so he could kiss him through the pleasure that was building in his body.

Wade’s grip on them tightened as he kissed him through the little gasps that were starting to escape past his bitten-red lips, the familiar feeling of orgasm looming closer. The wagon was starting to feel warm from their activity, and sweat glistened along the line of Peter’s back, his arms where they wrapped tight in pleasure around Wade, and along his hairline. He felt alive from it all, ignited by the feeling Wade’s hand pumped out of him; like he was electric, raw and exposed. 

It felt good, impossibly good, with Wade’s hand moving so slick and tight, knuckles rasping along his stomach with each upward stroke, but he needed something more so he could crest the edge of release he danced on. He lifted one leg up so he could curl it around Wade’s side, hiked up just under his ribcage. It slipped from the sweat gathering there, but Wade’s arm caught it, pulling him impossibly closer, never stopping his other grip on their cocks, and the angle changed just right, so both of them were gasping open mouthed into each other.

Peter didn’t come, though, until the hand that had caught his leg slipped a path along it, down across his slick lower back to prod dryly just behind his balls to the puckered, clenched hole that Peter had imagined him touching when he was alone at night, and he breathed, “Come for me, darlin’,” against Peter’s skin.

The command rumbled through him, and he came just as the man brushed against it with a thick, scarred finger. Nothing but a simple caress, barely a press, and yet his whole body seized in a blinding crest of pleasure he’d never experienced before.

Wade groaned long and loud, body stilling, burying his head into the sweaty curls at Peter’s temple as he followed the younger man into the descent of completion.

Peter let his lower back fall back onto the mattress, legs falling down shakily, spent, and Wade collapsed next to Peter, mindful of his bulk. He kept a hand on him, though, like a tether; never letting their bodies fully leave one another, as if they might continue to float away into a tempting oblivion. 

Peter felt hot and sticky and _amazing._ He couldn't stop himself from turning over despite the mess of their stomachs and letting his head lay content on Wade’s shoulder, tucked up along his side. 

He pushed a smile into Wade’s shoulder and left a small kiss there, mumbling near incoherently through the sleepy haze engulfing him, “Tha’ was ’mazing.”

Peter was drifting into sleep, barely feeling Wade shift around beneath him to grab his shirt, ruining it as he used it to wipe them both off.

A loose curl was brushed aside to plant the barest kiss to his forehead, and Peter was out, sleep pulling him down further into a distant dreamland.

“You’re amazing.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small update here! 
> 
> I wanted this part to be included in my next bigger update, but I'm still finishing up the next parts and then sending them out to be beta'd. So I figured why make you wait when I have this small part waiting to be read?
> 
> (: Enjoy!

Wade woke not from a nightmare, which was rather typical, but from a mighty need to piss, which was not. He normally never slept soundly long enough to have to wake up and relieve himself; only catching a few winks at a time, if that. 

Wade blinked awake, confused for a moment; he was still getting used to waking in his small tent, often tensing awake in the sudden slightly-claustrophobic darkness before remembering where he was, but this wasn’t his tent. It was different and open, with far more room to stretch out. 

Or perhaps not, he noticed, shifting, and the dark-haired boy wound around him yawned, nuzzling deeper into the skin of his torso that couldn’t possibly be that comfortable. With Peter practically on top of him, Wade moved gently, hesitant even as his bladder yelled at him to hurry, so as not to wake him.

Wade stumbled from the cot, eyes blurry with sleep, and he rubbed at them drowsily. He couldn’t remember sleeping that long _ever_. Not in years, if he thought about it. He leaned down to find his pants, slipping them on and buttoning them up. When he picked up his shirt the memory of last night came back to him in slow lazy bursts, as if his brain had yet to fully wake.

He couldn’t remember anything making him this disoriented beyond when he came to, after a particularly bad episode. It took awhile for him to come back from the void of death, reminding him that there would be no salvation for him. He always struggled to orient himself after those times.

It didn’t feel quite like that, of course. Not as disquieting and hopeless, but the disorientation of it still felt too familiar.

He remembered, then, that he’d used his shirt to clean him and Peter off. He frowned, his bladder not liking the prospect of waiting, and looked around.

There would be no way one of Peter’s shirts would fit him, no way at all, and he wouldn’t want to rip it. No one here had a large enough wardrobe to spare, and Wade had no right at all to help himself to the man’s clothes, anyway. Even if he’d been shedding them off him just last night.

Wade crept over carefully to the opening of the wagon to inspect outside. The sun hadn’t risen yet, birds still quiet with slumber, so that meant they weren’t expected to rise for work in what was likely an hour, two tops. No one would be up yet, and he wouldn't be bothering anyone by wandering half-naked over to the treeline of the woods across the way to relieve himself.

He took great care in climbing down, trying not to shake or jostle the wagon even a little bit. He wasn't sure exactly how sensitive Peter’s senses were in slumber, but he didn’t want to find out. With the day full of assembling the circus, and coming weeks filled with shows, the young man deserved his rest.

Wade shuffled barefoot across the half yard or so it was till he hit the trees. He relieved himself, forehead resting tiredly along the smooth bark of an ancient tree, and zipped himself up quick after; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to go back to sleep, but it was cool outside in the morning before the sun began to rise and Peter’s skin had been sleep-warm against his own. He’d take a few more hours of that, ability to fall asleep or no.

He was making his way back through the darkness, thoughts only of the man who waited for him back in the wagon, when he saw movement far over to his right.

It was Bucky, and his metal arm glinted off the moonlight where it shone sporadically through the cloud-filled sky.

He looked up from his thoughts, as if sensing Wade’s stare, and waved a hand before pushing himself off the tree to make his way over.

Wade would later blame his sleepiness, more so now without a persistent bladder, for his inability to remember to panic at Bucky’s growing proximity. He couldn’t think of anything other than why the man was up, by himself, brooding in the darkness of the trees. 

“Everything alright?” Wade called softly, so not to wake anyone, as Bucky approached. He had rather pronounced circles under his eyes, and Wade couldn’t tell in the darkness, but he was pretty sure the shadows under his eyes were tinged purple; the product of lack of sleep.

Wade knew it well.

Bucky shook his head, exhaling softly as he ran his flesh hand through his loose, slightly tangled locks. Like he’d repeated the gesture more than a few times already.

“Just—” He glanced up at Wade before looking away quickly, like he wasn’t sure if the vulnerability in his eyes might draw judgment. As if Wade even had the right to go throwing stones, not when his nightmares had nightmares, and his trauma had trauma.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Bucky finished off with a casual shrug, as if it was normal for him to be up all night running from the things in his past he wouldn’t ever be able to change.

Wade nodded knowingly at that and slid his hands, bare but he’d yet to notice that important detail, into his trousers. Adapting an equally casual stance, although nothing about this conversation was.

“I know quite a bit about that,” Wade empathized, and he tramped down the panic at opening himself up, figuring giving up these little tidbits about himself wouldn’t get him hurt. Not here.

“I, uh, get nightmares quite frequently, too,” he offered up, and looked over at Bucky to see if his admittance would get the man to open up at all. Maybe Wade’s experience in this could help the other, just a little.

Bucky’s eyes shuttered, as if remembering what had kept him up. “These weren’t nightmares.”

Ah, memories. 

Far worse, and all the more painful. Reliving something as if it was happening fresh, over and over, night after night.

Wade’s psyche had gotten tired of tormenting him with memories of long ago, instead offering up new horrors of the memories in new creative scenarios, or with other people he’d cared about. He hadn’t had any as such in a long while; unable to dream about people you didn’t have in your life. Wade had no one he cared about well enough in recent years to star in them.

Until now, that is.

And that scared him now more than ever.

“Some memories _are_ nightmares,” was all Wade had to say to that.

Bucky gave a dry chuckle. 

“I guess…” Wade's advice got stuck in the back of his throat, feeling positive and optimistic in a way he didn’t feel he had a right to be. Just a month and a half ago, he’d been starving off nightmares by finding creative ways to die. To cheat the system, so to speak. It had worked. For him, anyway.

Wade cleared his throat, continuing on despite the uncomfortable feeling curled around his heart, “You have to remember that they’re in the past. And you’re here.”

He locked eyes with Bucky and held, the other man not looking away as he seemed to hold onto Wade’s words like a life raft.

“In the present. They can’t touch you here, even if it seems like it. Even if they haunt you, they’re nothing but bad memories in the past. You get to decide how that affects you. Right here, right now.”

Why did that echo back at him so familiarly?

Bucky’s mouth twitched up. Not into a proper smile, but something close.

It was something, at least. Wade hadn’t made it worse, it seemed. 

A cool metal hand wrapped around his shoulder and squeezed, far gentler than it should have been able to. Wade glanced at it, but kept his questions at bay. Bucky’s story to tell, and his to earn the right to hear.

“Thanks, Wade. Really.”

He let go, and released a whoosh of air, something larger than a sigh.

“I better get back to Steve. He has a tendency to know when I’m gone too long. Then worry, rather intensely and naggingly.”

He started to walk backwards, smirking as he added, “Looks like you had a good night, though. Wouldn’t want to take you from Peter any longer than I already have.”

With that he winked and turned around, lifting a hand in farewell as he continued back to where the tents were erected farther away.

A chill ran down Wade all of a sudden, and he glanced down. His hands ripped from his pockets and pressed along his naked torso, up to his bare face—

_Shit._

Wade had not only gone out shirtless, but he’d gone out without his mask.

He looked towards Bucky’s retreating back.

Nothing in that entire exchange had given him an indication that Bucky even noticed he’d been half naked. Exposed. Unmasked. His scars out for all to see and judge and speculate about.

It made his stomach flip, but in which way he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t had anyone react that casually to him since….well, ever.

Tony had wanted him to join his crew, and would naturally have curbed his reaction. Peter’s, bless him, had been pure attraction, which Wade still couldn’t wrap his brain around…

But plain acceptance? Normalcy? Like Bucky had been talking to just a regular old schmuck about the hard knocks in life?

That hadn’t happened since his mutation manifested.

He started to walk back towards the wagon, feeling vulnerable in the clearing as the sun started to hint at morning through the still dark sky. Brightening it with slow creeping light, until in another hour or so it would be sunrise. 

Wade looked back one more time, but Bucky was gone.

He wondered, suddenly, if he’d hallucinated that whole conversation. 

But the chill of his metal arm had felt so real against his skin and deep down he just knew their conversation, and the emotions traded there-in, had been real.

Wade wasn’t exactly sure what to think about what had just transpired, so he didn’t.

He crawled back into bed and wrapped himself around something he felt more sure about.

Peter muffled a groan into his pillow as Wade shifted to get comfortable.

“Wade?” he questioned, groggy and still mostly asleep.

“Yeah, it’s me, baby boy.” Wade answered in a whisper, slipping down next to him to draw him into his arms. The warmth of Peter’s skin against his own knocked away the chill that lingered from the interaction outside, and he kissed the top of his head.

“Go back to sleep.”


	12. Chapter 12

Wade ended up dozing off after all, Peter tucked contently under his chin, until the encroaching sunlight and twittering birds indicated the arrival of early morning.

Peter yawning, stretching awake against Wade in a post-sleep haze, was what truly woke the man, though.

He jolted awake as Peter’s hand nudged along his jaw, and Peter drew it back quickly, sitting upright and muttering a groggy apology. He blinked his eyes awake and, naked as the day he was born, smiled dreamily down at Wade and pressed a kiss to the man's surprisingly still uncovered, slack mouth.

“Morning, Wade,” he purred in a husky, sleepy voice that had the man underneath him reacting, realizing he’d never gotten to hear just what Peter sounded like when he first woke, and draped himself over Wade’s chest.

Persistent and pessimistic thoughts nagged at Wade, even over the slow curl of arousal; that it was too lit in the space, too exposing, and that he should cover up _right now_ , but he ignored them. Peter had seen everything laid out last night, even in the cover of darkness, and still wanted him. Wade suspected a marginal amount of glittering morning light flitting across his chest wouldn’t change that.

He hadn’t expected what it would change for _himself_ , though.

Seeing the pale expanse of Peter’s back lit up invitingly as sunlight splayed across it was almost like looking into the sun itself. It hurt to look at in all its beauty, but his eyes kept traveling; over the smooth shoulders that slowly sloped into a dimpled lower back, then glided into a tight bubble of muscle he needed to palm in his hands right that second or he might really die for good this time.

Wade did just that, hitching Peter up further along his chest so he could settle his roaming hands into the shadows under his pert ass.

Wade leaned in for a kiss, feeling exhilarated on the happiness coursing through him and the knowledge that he could just reach out and touch this kid whenever he wanted. Whatever cosmic mistake the world had managed to make in order for him to have this…

He just hoped whoever was running that gig didn’t find out. ‘Cause Wade? He could get used to this.

Peter laughed into the kiss, taken by surprise, but shifted along the chest under him for a better angle.

They made out like that, sun creeping higher and birds chirping louder, until both their mouths were sore from the continuous passionate press of their lips.

“ _Good morning_ ,” Wade finally rumbled back, honestly never meaning the sentiment more than in that moment.

He hadn’t had a good morning in—

Well, you got the general picture by now.

He didn’t want to think of his past at that moment.

Wade tucked a piece of wavy brown hair that had sprung free behind a cute ear. He traced the shell of it with a finger tenderly, and his lips twitched when it caused the boy on top of him to shiver and hide a blush in Wade’s neck.

No, Wade wanted to submerge himself in the promise of a future he was now excited for; of a tomorrow he didn’t dread, and the endless mornings he envisioned himself waking to that radiant smile and melodious laugh.

Peter planted a few affectionate kisses along Wade's neck, but otherwise stayed happily tucked there. He made to move, but Peter let out a disgruntled noise in protest.

Wade chuckled, and the man on his chest moved with the movement.

“We gotta get up sometime,” Wade reasoned.

A tiny shake of refusal as Peter’s head brushed against the underside of his chin.

“Just a few more minutes,” Peter whispered, snuggling down a little harder.

Wade grabbed the edge of a blanket, throwing it over top them before he wrapped his arms around the boy on his chest.

They could have a few more minutes of this.

They’d earned it.

Wade watched from his position on the bed as Peter got dressed for the morning.

He buttoned up his pants before slipping a shirt over his head. His hair, which had been disheveled from last night's activities, seemed to worsen from the action but Peter took no notice. He continued on, slipping his arms through the sleeves as he turned to look at Wade.

“I’ll go grab some clothes from your tent since…” Peter trailed off, cheeks flushed slightly, and Wade found it adorable that he couldn’t say it, after all they’d done last night.

“Since my shirt shows the evidence of the _fantastic_ night we both had?” Wade suggested, smirking slightly as Peter went from pink to red. The confidence Wade felt was almost euphoric in that moment, and he stretched his arms up to settle behind his head in a relaxed position regardless of his nudity. He reveled in the flick of interest that Peter’s eyes showed as he did so.

“Y-yeah,” Peter stammered out, and he reached for his shoes, crouching as he slipped them on. He was still pink when he popped back up, remarking, “That was probably the shortest amount of time it took me to find my shoes in...ever.” He chuckled.

“That’s what happens,” Wade told him from his lounged position on the bed, “when you don’t just go chucking them around.”

Peter rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, and Wade wanted to bottle this feeling up.

“I’ll be right back,” Peter promised as he crawled over the lip of the wagon, giving a small goofy wave right before disappearing. But Wade heard a small exclamation of “Oh!” and Peter’s head popped up a moment later.

“Did you...leave clothes out last night?” Peter asked, eyebrows creased, sounding a little more than confused.

Wade sat up, “No, why?”

Peter lifted his hand and in them was clenched familiar clothes. He crawled back into the wagon and set the clothes down over the blanket that was covering the lower part of Wade’s body.

He leaned in for a chaste kiss, and murmured against Wade’s lips, “I’ll go save us some breakfast before those heathens eat it all.”

Peter pulled back, standing upright over Wade with arms crossed.

“I don’t know how you convinced me to sleep in with you,” Peter accused teasingly.

“Hey! I wasn’t the one—” Wade attempted to defend but Peter was already making his way out, hauling himself up and over the Wagon with an amused, “See you soon!” over his shoulder.

_What a brat_ , Wade thought. But didn’t truly mean it. He couldn’t think up a single negative thing about that boy if he tried.

He had a guess of who had brought the clothes on by, and he was thankful for it. It was either Wade who did the half naked walk to his tent to fetch some fresh clothes, or Peter; and of course he’d been perfectly content in offering to get the clothes, but it embarrassed Wade that he couldn’t even do something as normal as that.

He buttoned his shirt up, the darkness that had abated since last night slowly starting to fade in around him. He just couldn’t fully escape it could he, he thought self-deprecatingly as he tucked his shirt in rather aggressively. He just wished the thoughts that plagued him could let him have this; this happy afterglow. With his mask and gloves acquired and securely slipped on, Wade was ready to face the day.

Wade walked to where they’d set up the picnic tables they often used for meals, especially breakfast. Lunch and dinner could often be a free for all, not everyone eating at the same time, or even being able to eat at all depending on the day. But breakfast, he’d noticed, was one of the rare meals they made sure to enjoy with most, if not all, of them together.

It made it interesting, he found, and rather loud.

Wade often took his breakfast elsewhere, but had on occasion, when he wasn’t particularly hungry, stayed. It usually started off quiet; a settled hush over the still-waking crew. But by the end? They’d be in an uproar over a joke, telling animated stories, or talking over each other’s vehement opinions.

Wade was ready to be greeted with blinking stares, and drowsy smiles, but their voices reached him before he saw them.

“—need to hand it over!” He heard Charles’ voice first.

“I will not!” The Lord of Leeds’ voice carried, affronted.

“Guys can we _not_!” Peter’s mortified voice next, and now Wade was curious.

He approached to Peter's hands covering his face, and Wade noticed a flush was creeping down along his neck.

What had him so worked up?

Charles noticed Wade’s arrival and his smile widened enough to rival the Cheshire cat’s.

“Wade!” Charles was standing on the bench so he could be level with those sitting around him. “Please clear something up for us, will you? Did you or did you not, deflower our resident spider here last night?”

Wade’s eyes widen, mouth dropping open behind his mask in shock. How—

How was he to answer that? He didn’t want to answer that! He knew Charles often was vulgar and rather insulting, even in jest, to just about everyone about _anything_ , but Wade found himself steaming a little at the audacity.

How dare he—

“How about you sit _your_ virgin ass down, _General,”_ came Bucky’s casual voice from the table next to theirs, “Maybe Tony will find Thumbelina around these parts so you can stop nosin’ around in everyone else’s love lives and get your own.”

Charles’ mouth gaped, then flapped open and closed for a moment like a fish out of water; floundering for an equally witty and scathing retort to that.

“Fuck you, Frostbite,” he finally hissed out, face beet red, as he sat down on the table top, like he usually did, to continue his breakfast.

Wade took a tentative step forward, then another, glancing over at Bucky.

A fork dangled forgotten in one hand as Bucky eyed Charles, unperturbed by the insult, then, seemingly satisfied with the short man’s silence, slid his gaze to Wade.

The edge of Bucky’s mouth tipped up into a semblance of a smile, and then, in a similar fashion as last night, _winked_ , before diverting his attention once more to his breakfast. Steve leaned over to whisper something in his ear, but he shook his head.

Wade continued on, unsure of what had just transpired, and sat down beside Peter.

Peter nodded towards the plate filled with food in front of Wade.

“I got what I could, these folks are vultures.” Peter sent a look over to Charles, who merely scoffed at the comment, as he made to stand.

It had become their typical routine. Whenever Wade joined for breakfast to gather a plate, Peter would follow him wherever he decided to enjoy his breakfast that morning. It didn’t matter if Peter was finished, or in the middle of a conversation. He always ended up following Wade.

In the beginning, he’d asked, but Wade had never wanted to say no to begin with, and so had told him to stop asking; that Peter didn’t need to ask, he was always welcome. Peter would often throw looks his way, then, in a nonverbal query, and Wade would wave a hand to indicate him to follow along.

Now? Now he would just get up and follow Wade without question.

But not today, Wade decided. Not after last night, both in regards to Peter and the run in with Bucky. It had made him think, Bucky’s reaction. Or lack-there-of, specifically. He owed it to these people, who had trusted him since day one even when he hadn’t given them the same courtesy.

He could do this. Trust them with this little bit of himself. He could gage their reactions to see if they’d ever be able to see the full, exposed atrocity that was Wade.

Wade put a hand on Peter’s shoulder and gently pushed him back down to sit. He shook his head at Peter’s questioning look, and only paused slightly before slowly folding his mask up to the bridge of his nose to eat.

Peter’s face was priceless. His mouth was slack with shock, but his eyes shone with pride, and perhaps something Wade had come to recognize as affection.

Wade’s heart was pounding, and he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to keep a bite of this food down with his stomach swooping nervously, but he didn’t retreat in fear. He was done with letting it rule his life and so he kept the mask up; the scarred, tangled flesh of his lower face out for all his counterparts to see.

From the corner of his eye he saw the surprised and curious gazes slide along his exposed skin, but they didn’t linger and they didn’t comment. Breakfast continued as it usually did, just for once with Wade present and participating.

Charles didn’t make anymore comments about Peter or Wade, and instead the talk buzzed more around the plans for the coming days, and the excitement of being back in New York. Once they had the big top assembled and secure, they’d start to get everything set up inside and out, before they’d begin running through practices. It also meant those _not_ practicing had down time; a chance to explore the city and it’s many offerings.

The routine was normal; they set up, they practiced, and then they’d be ready to put on shows. But this time, Tony announced as he arrived mid-way through breakfast, he wanted to practice some new ideas for routines, so he’d held off the opening date by nearly a week so they had time to practice.

That meant they’d be in New York for a month, the longest they’d spent in any city. While Wade had traveled with them, that is.

Tony passed a paper around for everyone to take a look at. On it had times and dates of when they’d be practicing, and an entirely new line-up for the New York shows. He explained he wanted to keep it fresh and fun, for both them _and_ the audiences. So if that meant taking more time to nail it, then so be it.

It didn’t make much difference to Wade; he wouldn’t be practicing _or_ strolling out and about in New York. He’d just make himself useful, hanging around for anything anyone might need him for. It also meant he got to watch Peter practice, his favorite pastime.

Well, perhaps second favorite, now.

They’d finished breakfast and were on their way to help set up the big top when Wade finally got the chance to ask Peter about what happened at breakfast.

“What was going on with Charles?” he asked casually, making sure his strides were leisurely to match Peter’s shorter steps, but also so they’d have some time alone before they met up with the rest of the group.

“Hmm?” Peter hummed innocently, as if he had no idea what Wade was asking about.

Wade pushed a gloved finger in between Peter’s ticklish ribs, causing him to jump away with a yelp.

“Come on, you were practically red from whatever it was he was ribbing you about.” Wade paused a moment before asking, softer, “Was he giving you a hard time because of me?”

Peter glanced up at Wade in confusion, “Why would he give me a hard time because of you?”

Wade shrugged up a shoulder. He didn’t want to tell Peter he’d been waiting for it since the first kiss, actually. Just waiting for someone to tell him to back off, give him the speech that he wasn’t right for Peter, never would be, and to leave the younger man alone.

Peter’s hand came to rest on Wade’s arm, stopping him in his tracks. “Are you seriously worried about that?”

Damn, it’s like this kid could read his mind. Wade wasn’t entirely sure he couldn’t.

Peter crossed his arms self-consciously. “It wasn’t anything like that. It—Charles was being typical Charles. He started a stupid bet a while back.” His face tinged pink as he continued, “A bet about when we’d finally...” He waved his hand between them to indicate what he couldn’t manage to say.

Wade had figured as much by what Charles had asked him, the nosey little bastard.

“And the others?” Wade could see Charles being that tact-less and aloof with something like that, but the others…

Peter shook his head, “They joked about it, but didn’t take it seriously.”

“Well, what even made him bring it up?” Wade asked, wondering how they’d found out about their late night activities. Was nothing truly a secret in this place?

Peter turned a shade redder, if possible. “I suppose Charles noticed your tent was empty last night. He was asking me about it, but took my refusal to answer as answer enough, I guess. Then started asking everyone to pay up just as you showed up.”

Wade stepped closer to Peter and embraced him, drawing him in closer to shield him from the world with his bulk and to whisper in his ear, “You don’t have to discuss anything we do with anyone, Peter, and if…if being with me embarasses you—”

Peter shoved at Wade gently so he could look up at him, “I’m not embarrassed of _you,_ Wade! I just…I don’t want everyone gossiping about what we do together. Like it’s something trivial. It’s not to me. It’s special.”

Wade chuckled softly, the only thing that could escape as he was overcome with emotion, and brought Peter closer for a proper hug. Peter was special to him too, and this kid was going to melt his cold heart with all his tenderness and warmth.

Peter tipped up to press a quick, sweet kiss onto Wade’s clothed lips before admitting, “I really enjoyed last night. And I—I can’t wait to do it again.”

Overcome with embarrassment once more at the admission, Peter buried his head just below Wade’s collarbone in hopes to hide the blush that flushed over his face. He hated that he blushed so easily. Wade found it delightful.

“You make me feel like I’m on top of the world,” Peter whispered into his firm chest, and that was it, Wade thought, his heart belonged to this man in his arms now.

Wade let his forehead rest against Peter’s temple for a few moments, just enjoying being wrapped up not only in Peter’s arms, but in his affection, too. He had forgotten how good it felt to be someone’s everything.

Wade placed a gentle kiss on top of bouncy brown locks and said, rough with emotion, “Come on, let’s go help get the tent set up.”

He slid his palm into Peter’s as they continued on and squeezed it once; hoping it conveyed all that he’d gotten too choked up to say.

Like, _you make me feel on top of the world, too._

He forced himself not to think of how much it would hurt to fall from a height like that.

As always, pitching the big tent and setting it up took all day, exhausting pretty much the whole crew in the process. No one even lingered after dinner, which was highly unusual. Even the cooks felt the weariness of the day, and wrangled up something simple and easy for them all, too tired for fanfare. The whole circus fell into a fatigued hush soon after, falling into bed early, just as the crickets started their serenading lullabies.

Wade laid out on his back on the cot in his tent, alone but for a lone spider he spied in the corner of his tent who had found its way inside to keep him company. His fingers tapped an uneven rhythm across his chest in thought and he wished he were tucked up against a young trapeze artist instead, where his dreams seemed to come easiest. If he managed a few hours of rest tonight, as tired as he was, he prayed they’d be about Peter; the only thing worth praying for to a deity that had abandoned him long ago.

At that same moment, clear across the clearing, Peter climbed his way up into his wagon, but just barely. His arms ached and he nearly slipped on his way up, glad for the ability to stick to things if only so he didn’t end up falling back down along the ground painfully. He wasn’t sure he’d get back up if he fell, bone-tired as he felt.

He’d shoved off his shoes before making his way up, and shed his clothes once he safely had two feet planted inside. He didn’t even bother with lighting his lamp before making his way to bed; eyes already half closed, too tired for reading.

He longed for Wade to be the one undressing him, even though he knew they’d both been too tired for anything tonight. That didn’t mean they couldn’t cuddle, right? Peter regretted not offering Wade to come sleep with him tonight. But he’d been so tired, and perhaps a little nervous, even after being so forward the night before, and Wade hadn’t mentioned anything either. So, with a brief hug and chaste kiss goodnight, they’d gone their separate ways.

Peter was kicking himself for it now, huddled under his blankets that now lacked their usual warmth; not after he’d slept with Wade, a near furnace, along his back.

He sighed, stretching an arm out into the empty space of the bed Wade had occupied last night, and let his eyes close. The faster he went to sleep, the quicker morning would come so he’d get to be with Wade.

His last sleepy thought was that maybe he’d get to see him in his dreams tonight and it wouldn’t seem so long, then, after all.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates may be slower but they are coming! I can't stop all these damn fic ideas, I've got to beat them off with a bat!
> 
> Enjoy ♥️ Let me know what you think!

“No...nope, not working!” Tony griped from his position in the stands, watching over the practice being held in front of him. Everyone involved stopped, yet again. They’d been going in sections all day, and had found a particular hiccup in part of the new routine regarding the horses, which Tony had been tweaking for what seemed like _ages._

Peter, dressed in his practice clothes, glanced over at Wade who was observing from his position in the shadows cast off the stands farther away. He’d been off doing something else for a while, helping elsewhere, not needing to be present for the practices taking place, but must have finished what he was doing. He must have come back to see if Peter was up twirling in the air yet. _No such luck_ , Peter grumbled to himself. He crossed his eyes while he stuck out his tongue, boredom making him silly, and saw rather than heard a chuckle go through the man. Of course he’d been paying attention to Peter and not the commotion in front of them.

The trapeze act was up after this part. _If they ever managed to get to it_ , Peter thought tiredly. The acts merged somewhat, one ending as the other began, yet they wouldn’t go for a full run for another couple of days. So Peter, along with the others in his act, were left sprawled on the stands as they waited for their turn to practice whatever Tony had come up for them.

Tony was gunning for all-out perfection, though, as he always did whenever they changed routines. They’d be waiting for another hour, at least. They’d barely made it halfway through the routines today, their first practice of the week; no wonder Tony had pushed back the date by nearly a week. They’d need it at this rate.

Wade crept closer, and Peter hid his smile. If he was going to wait, he didn’t mind having the other man nearby to quell his boredom. 

“I’m not sure what’s going on with Amnesty today,” Mary, one half of the albino twins, expressed in slight frustration, caressing down the mare's flank soothingly. The woman matched Amnesty’s beauty perfectly; her own long hair and skin nearly pearlescent under the lights with it’s bright whiteness. Her sister Florence, identical to her sister in every way, stood with Airabella, another mare in the performance. 

They had four show horses, Amnesty, Airabella, Artemis, and Ares. They were used throughout the shows, looking majestic as they performed various tricks and poses. They were at the part of the show where they did a choreographed bit, but Amnesty just didn't seem like participating in it. The other two horses were accompanied by Wanda and Pietro, who made up the other half and the circus had come to teasingly dub it the “Twin Terror” act.

Peter kept his focus on Wade, though, as Tony stalked over to the mare struggling to perform. 

“I suppose we can always cut her from this part,” Tony suggested with a frown, clearly not liking the idea. He drew up closer to Amnesty and caressed down her face as she snuffled closer, looking for treats. He sighed, resting his forehead against hers as he asked her, “Do you really think you deserve a treat, little missy?”

Peter scooted down to the end of the stand to meet up with Wade, who while standing came up to Peter’s midsection. Wade’s arms snaked around Peter’s bare midriff. His practice clothes, in their mobility, leaned on the side of being a tad bit revealing. It only seemed to interest Wade more than anything, though. Peter had reveled in the glint he’d seen in Wade’s eyes the first time he’d been around the other man in his practice clothes; and it seemed Wade found stuff to do nearby whenever Peter was practicing in them ever since.

Wade watched the conversation and directions Tony was doling out from his comfortable position tucked along Peter’s side. The skin of Peter’s stomach was warm along the side where Wade’s mask pressed, and Peter rubbed a hand subconsciously up and down Wade’s back while they waited; the rhythm of their breathing synchronizing as they relaxed against one another.

A few more minutes passed by of conversation before Tony raised his arms defeatedly and told them all, “Let’s try it without her this time, and see what happens.”

Mary started guiding the mare away so they wouldn’t be in the way as Tony made his way back to where he’d previously been sitting.

“Don’t hate me,” Wade mumbled, tucking his face further into Peter’s stomach before glancing up.

Peter glanced down to meet his gaze and chuckled in confusion, “Why would I hate you?”

But Wade didn’t answer. He simply extracted himself from Peter's embrace and called, “Stark, I have an idea!” as he made his way over to Tony, and started a hushed conversation.

Peter glanced over to Natasha, who met Peter’s look with a questioning one. He simply shrugged in reply. He had absolutely no idea what Wade was up to. 

Tony’s head bobbed a few times, eyes sliding over to Peter. Peter narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but Tony looked away quickly.

“Alright,” Tony finally told Wade, louder, “We’ll give it a shot.”

Wade shifted away from Tony and met Peter’s eyes up on the stand. Peter raised his eyebrows in question, but Wade’s gaze shifted away guiltily. His mouth moved under his mask, but Peter couldn’t figure out what he was saying.

“Alright, Spider-Man,” Tony teased, “Get your little arachnid butt down here.”

Peter stood slowly, confused, as WD asked, “Are we starting the trapeze act now, Tony?”

Tony shook his head as he answered, “Not yet, WD.” Then turned and directed, “Mary, I’m going to sit you out for a few minutes and substitute Peter here, per Wilson’s recommendation.”

Peter nearly tripped as he made his way down when he heard that.

“Mr. Stark I—I don’t work with the horses,” Peter felt the need to remind him. He hadn’t worked with them since the first disastrous time all those years ago. Surely Tony couldn’t have forgotten.

Tony shrugged. “This show is all about change and growth. If Wade thinks it’ll work, I want to give it a try.”

“Try _what?_ ” Peter huffed, glance cutting to Wade who wisely kept quiet.

“Well, for now, I want you to stand on her back like how Mary was,” Tony beckoned Mary to bring over Amnesty, “but then I want you to try moving to a one handed stand. Just to jazz it up a bit.”

The move wasn’t a particularly hard one for Peter, but he’d never practiced it on a _horse_ before. He told Tony as such.

Tony chuckled, attempting to pass the reins in his hand over to a motionless Peter, “No time like the present, Parker.”

This was too much. He’d only just _pet_ the darn thing the other night, at Wade’s insistence. He wasn’t comfortable getting on one, let alone _performing_ with it.

Peter shook his head, and backed up, but was met with a warm, solid wall of muscle behind him. He looked up, and Wade’s gaze met his upside down. He hadn’t even noticed Wade moving towards him.

“Let’s take five,” Tony called out knowingly, and everyone gladly scattered; lucky to have even that short reprieve. 

The horses were left tied up along one post, and Wade guided Peter to sit down along the lowest bench of the stand closest to them.

“Wade, you know I can’t—why would you—?” Peter’s questions tumbled out half formed, a little hurt, and fully panicking at the thought of what he was just asked to do.

“Hey,” Wade soothed, and when his hands came to rest along Peter’s cheeks they were bare. Peter hadn’t even noticed him taking his gloves off, consumed as he was by his internal panic; his breathing had become worryingly shallow and his focus was starting to wane in and out as he felt faint.

“Woah, _breathe_ , Peter.” Wade kneeled in front of him so they could see eye to eye. He grabbed at Peter’s shoulders quickly to steady him, “I never would have suggested it if I didn’t think you could do it.”

Peter shook his head and attempted to breathe more even and slow, as Wade’s rough thumbs went back to caressing distracting sweeps across the tops of his cheek bones. 

Wade’s forehead came to rest along Peters and he said in the quiet between them, “I _know_ you can do this. She trusts you…now you just have to trust her.”

He pressed a clothed kiss to Peter’s lips, breathing a “You’ll do great” across them.

Peter wasn’t sure of that, not one bit. But _Wade_ believed in him, and that was enough. He didn’t want to let the man down and just hoped it didn’t go as badly as last time. Although he supposed there was less risk of him getting thrown off the horse unexpectedly and breaking an arm this time. Not with all the practice in landing he’d done through the years.

Yet, he thought as the phantom pain of that memory shot through his arm, the last time _had_ been pretty bad. He didn’t want a repeat performance of that painful tragedy; just because he healed faster didn’t mean it hurt any less. But he was far more experienced now then he’d been back then, fresh to the circus and working on his abilities. 

That still didn’t settle the anxiety churning within him.

“I don’t know about this, Wade...” Peter wasn’t sure if the bad feeling swirling inside him was from his own anxiety, or his senses trying to tell him this was not a good idea. He felt marginally better around the animals, but he’d figured he’d maybe pet them on occasion or give them a few treats instead of ignoring them outright. Not do tricks on the back of one!

He stood up, wobbly from the suddenness of it, but Wade was there to steady him with a hand on his elbow. Peter liked the idea of Wade being there for him, in all different manners. He supposed this was just another way of him supporting Peter; pushing him to do something he was more than capable of, but stopped himself from doing out of fear.

Peter wasn’t cruel enough to say it, but Wade had his own fears that held him back. Peter didn’t push _him_ to do the things he wasn’t comfortable with yet. 

He huffed out a breath, blowing an annoying curl off his forehead, and knew he was being petty for thinking those thoughts. He didn’t want to force Wade to do anything he wasn’t comfortable with, and he knew Wade wasn’t trying to do that to him, either. He knew that if he truly told Wade no that there would be no more word of working with the horses. But Peter knew he could do this; there was honestly nothing holding him back but his own reservations.

Wade would help him get through this, and in turn Peter would be there for when Wade was ready to break his own restrictive walls down. He liked the thought of them rebuilding and remodeling the walls between them; metaphorically creating a new place that felt comfortable for both of them, a place where their future together could flourish and thrive in.

“Alright,” Peter tentatively agreed, eyes sliding over to the horses waiting patiently.

Wade’s mask stretched over his grin and he happily tucked Peter into a hug. Peter loved Wade’s hugs; he let himself be enveloped in them any chance he could get, and for the thousandth time enjoyed just how much larger Wade was than him. At the moment it was particularly comforting to be encased against Wade, feeling protected and warm.

He let his head rest along Wade’s strong chest as scarred hands rubbed soothingly up and down his back, and honestly wondered how he’d made it this long without this man in his life. It was like back before the circus; of course it had happened, he’d lived it, but he wondered how he’d ever managed to survive without it. 

Now that Wade had come along, he realized he’d been walking around with a Wade-shaped hole in his chest without ever realizing it.

Peter wrapped his arms around Wade’s waist in turn, and rested his chin flat so he could gaze up at Wade as they embraced. An idea sparked bright and sudden in Peter’s mind, like a match struck blindingly into flame within pure darkness.

Wade must have been unsure of the look he was receiving because he asked, “What?”

“If I do this,” Peter bargained, “I want something in return.” 

A twitch that could only have been an eyebrow raise from under Wade’s mask. “Oh?”

Peter nodded, a little difficult with his current position but too comfy wrapped up in the larger man's arms to move.

“And what’s that?”

Peter shook his head mischievously. “It’s a secret.”

Wade glanced up in thought, considering, before meeting Peter’s gaze again. His blue eyes were alight with interest. “So, you’ll attempt this if I agree to something that you’re apparently keen on keeping a secret?”

Peter chuckled. “Yup.” Wade could say no of course, and Peter would still make an attempt at the trick. Wade didn’t need to know that, of course.

There was a few seconds of silence before Wade’s hands came up to tickle retributory at Peter’s ribs. Peter’s knees nearly gave out as he barked out surprise laughter; he hated that Wade had found that spot and used it rather mercilessly to his advantage.

Wade cradled Peter, limp with laughter, in his arms, and stopped when they were both breathless from laughter. Peter’s grin was bright as he gazed up at Wade, face flushed with happiness.

“Alright,” Wade agreed without thought, caught up in the other man. “You’re lucky I lo—like you so much.”

_Shit_ , Wade thought, and that word he hadn’t even said hung near tangible in the air between them as Wade’s body went rigid against Peter’s.

Peter paused, and Wade was scared he’d heard the slip up, but he just threw another blinding smile Wade’s way as he leaned up to fold the mask over Wade’s lips.

“You better catch me if I fall,” Peter mock-threatened in a whisper across scarred lips.

“Always,” Wade promised back, leaning down farther to meet those enthusiastic kisses.

_Always._

Peter shook like a leaf the first ten minutes on the back of Amnesty; at first subtly, and embarrassingly, holding (squeezing rather, a touch too tight) Wade’s hand, not even doing any tricks, just sitting there, but every minute that passed without incident had him gaining confidence and less fright. 

Within a half hour, he was standing up and joining the other three in the first part of the routine. 

It didn’t take much longer for him to attempt hand standing; Peter had always naturally been a show off, his powers seemingly enhanced that trait, and always liked to exceed expectations. He’d often wondered what would have happened had Tony not found him. Would he still have been wandering the streets, perhaps using his powers to survive and help others on the streets like him? But that’s all it was, a bunch of What If’s, because the minute he’d stepped one foot in the big top he’d known he’d never go back to that life.

Amnesty seemed to click with Peter, afterall. Just like Wade had predicted. It only took three days of practicing to nail the routine; all the horses synchronized, all performers moving in unison, and his giddiness moved with him right into his trapeze routine, and even that went smoother than the day before. By the end of practice, Peter was alive on the thrill of what he’d accomplished, and excited to perform in their upcoming shows with a vigor he hadn’t had since he’d first started. 

As they were walking off, their part finished for the day, Peter politely declined Anne’s offer to come relax (and likely gossip, drinks in hand) with her and Natasha after a long, yet fruitful, day of practice. Adrenaline still coursed through his veins and he couldn’t stop the feeling of pure elation spreading through him, like it would come bursting through his chest any moment. He realized this feeling never would have happened if it hadn’t been for Wade. 

He hadn’t been sure how Wade would react to him asking for a favor in return for him attempting the routine (and he’d never expected it to turn out so well, in reality), but he knew how important it was that Wade had said yes, especially without knowing what it was Peter wanted from him. It just showed how much trust he had in Peter; for him not to ask for something Wade wasn’t willing to give, or something he wasn’t willing to do.

Peter wasn’t exactly sure where what he had in mind sat on those scales, but he was willing to try if there was even remotely a possibility of a yes. He wanted to give this to Wade; for brightening up the days he hadn’t known were dimmer without him in them, for giving him this almost-bursting feeling. For loving Peter.

And for the love Peter felt for him in return.

Neither one of them had said it yet, of course, even if he suspected Wade wanted to but stopped himself. Peter wasn’t sure if his reluctance had to do with his own personal qualms, or because he was scared of Peter’s reaction. He needn’t worry, though; the only thing holding Peter back was, honestly, the fact he’d never told anyone beyond his family those words before and didn’t exactly know the right time to say them.

That didn’t mean he was unsure of those feelings, however.

Peter knew they hadn’t known each other long, but every jagged edge of Wade’s was matched by the smoothness of Peter’s. Every curve and jut between them fit snugly against one another; two broken souls coming together to match up perfectly. It felt bigger than both Peter and Wade; like perhaps the moments in their life that had left them lonely and cold were to lead them to the warmer days with each other. How did you say no to something indescribable like that?

The answer, for Peter, was you didn’t. Instead you caught it with arms wide open, hoping it would stick and never let go. 

Peter nearly skipped to the back of the tent, eager to change out of his practice clothes so he could get his plans moving. He knew exactly who he needed to talk to in order to make his plan come to fruitiation; so Peter changed quickly, before Wade could find him, and snuck off to do just that. 

Peter’s practice that evening had admittedly been later in the day than normal; Tony often bumped the routines that needed more help up first and filtered down to the ones who needed less attention last. Since they’d been doing so well over the past few days, his routines had been scheduled later.

So while that meant there were less hours between when he was done practicing and the evening, it still meant he had a few hours left where he needed to manage to avoid Wade.

It was hard to do that, even in the moderate size of the camp. A few times he spied Wade out the corner of his eye, and flashed like lightning into the other direction. He was sure, after his third disappearing act, that Wade must know something was up.

And, see, Peter kind of _really_ wanted this to be a surprise.

Even unsure of what Wade’s reaction would be, he wanted it to be a surprise; and Peter just knew if he saw Wade he would ruin it. Just looking at the man and thinking about his plan made him blush bright red, which would be bound to arouse suspicion. Plus, once Wade was done for the night he’d be glued to Peter’s side, especially since they hadn’t seen each other most of the day.

He couldn’t have that. (Even if, normally, he adored it.)

Only as darkness crept over the circus, and practices concluded, did Peter let his plan be unfurled.

The day wound down into normal end-day activities; bonfires were lit, food was served, booze was passed around, and people were talking, laughing, cuddling by the fire.

But Peter wasn’t interested in any of that tonight; his mind was far too occupied on what he had in mind for the rest of the evening. 

He’d gladly skip one night of circus shenanigans for this; a night they both, Peter longingly hoped, would forever remember.

Peter snuck back into the tent as it was vacated. He’d made sure he’d laid out his best, most eye-catching practice clothes (he hadn’t wanted to waste time hunting for them), and changed. He couldn’t wear his full on costume, just in case, but these would do just fine. Wade’s gaze always started at his exposed biceps, trailed downward to his taut belly, before settling on the shorts Peter knew made his ass look fabulously enticing.

As Peter quietly got everything prepared within the big top, he hoped the coin he’d slipped O’Malley earlier was enough to get the man to do exactly as he’d asked. Peter had been sure to stress how important this was, even in his vagueness, unwilling to divulge any details. The thief had only smirked as Peter stuttered out his requests, steadfastly refusing to acknowledge his questioning eyebrow raise, and danced his newly acquired coin across his knuckles.

“A’ight,” he’d muttered finally, pocketing his money with a flip into his pocket before extending a hand for Peter to shake; finalizing their deal. “I can do that.”

Now, as Peter crawled into position high up within the rafters of the big top, he just had to wait.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many great speculations from the last chapter! Well, here it finally is in all its glory, folks.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it. 😉 
> 
> As always thank you so much for the comments and love you've given to this story. We are over halfway at this point, I believe! Much more to come though, so be prepared!
> 
> ♥️

Wade was sure he’d done something wrong.

He just had absolutely no idea _what_.

Peter couldn’t have been mad at him about the Amnesty thing; that was days ago, and besides, he’d given it a try and, just as Wade had predicted, they’d gotten on smashingly. 

If you asked Wade, which no one had, but still, Peter should be in far more acts than the few he was in. Sure, he might have been a tad bit biased but the kid had spectacular abilities that could be utilized in so many ways, so when Wade had seen an opportunity for that to happen he’d taken it.

Mild panic attack aside, Peter had been doing exceptionally with the new act. So the sudden avoidance not only confused Wade but worried him, and he tried to review the past few days to remember if he’d done something.

Or, he thought glumly as his thoughts caught along on an idea, perhaps _not_ done something.

There was still lots to do in preparation before the circus opened and not enough free hands to help, what with the performers focusing on their routines throughout the day, so it meant Wade was often busy. The people that didn’t perform were helping get the layout of the circus up and running, or out and about posting advertisement flyers around town (a job that Wade quite adamantly refused to do).

There was always something or other to occupy his time, what with the circus being less than a week out from opening, but Wade enjoyed it. Even if it meant he spent his days only stealing a handful of moments with Peter.

And the nights…

He wished he could say they’d been spent with Peter, wrapped up sated in his arms, tucked up behind him in bed as he kissed him to sleep. He wanted nothing more than to spend late nights exploring Peter’s body, letting the other boy explore _his_. The quiet of the night had always been one of his favorite times, even when he couldn’t sleep, and Peter was his favorite, period. Mixing the two would only be sweet bliss.

But Wade was currently having a bad spell with nightmares; which was hard to explain and admit to Peter. It didn’t matter how happy he was during the day, and he _was_ , this was the happiest he’d been in _years_. It meant nothing to his mind, which at night played out terrors he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, verbalize as they were too terrible to put into words.

Wade knew it was from being in the big city and the natural panic it stirred in Wade. They’d both been from a large city, Vanessa and him, and there was a reason he’d picked a hoboken little town _outside_ a big city in Illinois. Being directly in New York was kicking up things he hadn’t thought about, well, since being with Peter. And it was affecting him, as usual, at night when he was most vulnerable and susceptible to giving in to the mind-numbing grief he’d felt years prior. 

It also may have been something else holding him back from following Peter back into his bed. Something that wasn't just nightmares. It was the sound of Charles’ voice as he had made fun of Peter at breakfast that day. It had created a niggling doubt in Wade’s mind ever since. He never wanted Peter to have to defend himself because he was with Wade or put up with taunts because of it. So he’d kept his distance. At night, at least.

But Peter didn’t know that and Wade had no idea how to even start that conversation. So it was entirely realistic that he was mad at Wade, considering he hadn’t found his way into his bed again. Peter certainly seemed eager for it; the few kisses they often stole throughout the day between work were less than chaste. Yesterday, as dusk had crept upon the sky, and duties were finishing for the day, the nip Peter had laid on his bottom lip had bloomed bright with pain, healing so fast Wade was sure he’d imagined it except for the lingering copper taste on his tongue and Peter’s heated gaze upon the spot he’d just bit. 

Peter had blushed bright red afterward when someone, most likely Bucky, had catcalled loudly behind them. Wade had wiped his lip and they’d continue on their way, both of them frustrated and eager to continue what they’d started mere days ago. 

That night especially he’d read Peter’s confusion and slight hurt loud and clear when all he’d done was kiss him goodnight before making his way back to his tent. He knew what it had meant to both of them, the night they’d shared together, and now that they’d gotten past that first, vulnerable time Peter wanted more. Had said it in all but words; with his lingering touches, the heat that flared in his eyes when their gazes met, and his kisses that got deeper with urgency every time their lips touched. Wade wanted all of that too. More than anyone could ever know.

Beyond that, though, Wade was stumped as to why Peter would be avoiding him.

He was still contemplating it (worrying, rather) when he nearly ran into O’Malley. An apology was on his lips but the man waved it away before he could get it out, clearly unbothered by Wade’s spaciness.

“I’m to tell you that you’re wanted in the big top,” he grunted, hands fiddling with his pocket watch. His hands were always moving; probably a habit from pickpocketing all those years.

They got along well enough, Wade and him. The thief seemed to have a permanent frown etched on his face, unless it was alight with mischief. Even then it was usually because he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to. He’d be an unsavory character anywhere else, but here he was only slightly eccentric, comparatively, and loyal. That went a long way with Stark, it seemed.

Wade furrowed eyebrows he didn’t have behind his mask, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to the looming red and white striped big top. He hadn’t been needed or wanted in the tent all day; he’d been too busy outside fixing a few things that were requested of him. He’d always been fairly good with a hammer and the plus was he healed instantly if he accidently caught his thumb instead of the nail.

“Who—?” But when Wade turned back around O’Malley was already walking away, tucking his watch away within the breast pocket of the waistcoat he wore.

“That’s all I was hired to say,” he called back, smirking, “but I suggest you make your way on over.”

_Hired?_

What the hell…

The tent was pitch black and silent when he walked into it. It gave him the courage to slip off his mask, although he’d found himself wearing it less and less these days anyway as his confidence grew. The hot weather might have helped somewhat in that encouragement; he felt foolish sweating in the restrictive mask when the folks around him hardly seemed to care about his appearance. But as much as it had been about them, Wade knew it had more to do with him. He’d never felt comfortable enough to take it off around anyone, in any town. The simple fact was he felt safe here in this group. Truly felt a part of them, as much as he had scoffed at it in the beginning, enough to expose his biggest demon; and the days that Wade wore it, the days where the voices drowned out reasoning and the doubts won out, no one said anything then either. They accepted Wade with or without his mask. 

Wade slipped the mask into his back pocket for safekeeping as he glanced around.

His first thought was that O’Malley was pulling his leg. It wasn’t unheard of for the man to play tricks on people. It seemed a pastime, Wade had found, for most of them in the circus. Wade would often see them play jokes on one another, or hide before one of them passed only to pop out and scare them.

He wondered if the man was around the growing fire now, chortling about how he’d managed to pull one over on Wade.

It should have made him irritated, and it did, sure, but a larger part of him felt pleased. Wade was happy that they accepted and considered him one of them enough to pull these little pranks on him; to include him in as one of them.

Wade was just about to turn and leave, ready to go find O’Malley and give him hell, when a light flicked on loudly from the rafters above; it shone a bright diagonal line down into the center of the tent’s ring, dust motes floating lazy within its path, but illuminated no one.

No one, that is, until Wade’s eyes flickered up at the movement in the darkness above and he noticed something descending from the shadows. 

A foot came into view as they seemed to lower ever so slowly into the light; then familiar legs, and thighs, until Wade could fully process who the man was before him.

Peter was seated on his aerial hoop as it lowered gracefully down into the light until his whole body was lit up. The hoop didn’t stop there though, it kept lowering until it hovered just enough for Peter’s toes to brush the floor. His smile gleamed in the bright light as he tilted his head to meet Wade’s gaze.

“Hi,” was all he said, although Wade hardly heard it.

Wade made his way over, near star-struck, as his gaze roamed over Peter’s body; clad in his impressively eye-catching practice clothes, which managed to expose plenty of gorgeous, soft skin for Wade’s eyes to take in. Wade was having a hard time focusing on one spot.

He was seated simply-as-you-please upon the hoop, making it look as easy as sitting in a regular chair; and for him it most likely was. His hands were up, gripping the top of the hoop, but loose and lax in the grip as if it was more for show than holding him up. The pose outlined his biceps deliciously and Wade wanted to plant kisses along the lean muscle on display there.

“So,” Wade cleared his throat, meeting Peter’s smirking face once more, “was I invited to a late night practice?”

Peter tilted his head, and there was a glint in his eyes Wade hadn’t seen before.

“Practice?” Peter slipped off the hoop fluidly to plant his feet on the floor. His hands slid along the hoops edge as he moved before relaxing back into it, arms stretched out and feet farther apart on the floor; he looked damn near spread out for Wade’s taking. “You could say that.”

Slender fingers slipped from their grip on the hoop as Peter stepped closer to Wade, but he only took a few more steps, toes keeping within the circle of light, before he beckoned Wade to meet him the rest of the way.

Wade’s gaze never left Peter’s as he stumbled into the light clumsily. He stopped just before him, looking down into beautiful, sparkling brown eyes. The light above and behind Peter did a remarkable job at highlighting the golden flecks found throughout, and if Wade wasn’t already head over heels for this kid, just staring into the depths of those kind, tender eyes would have done it in that moment.

Peter smiled the tiny smile Wade was starting to call _his_. Long, dark eyelashes fluttered as he blinked up at Wade, eyes squinting, blinded from the light. Wade stepped tighter into Peter’s space, allowing his shadow to encompass the smaller man. Peter’s smile grew and he leaned up to press a kiss of thanks into Wade’s mouth.

“Want to see some of my new tricks?” Peter asked. It was an innocent enough question, but those gorgeous doe eyes still held a devious gleam. Peter knew how much Wade loved to watch him practice. Having that all to himself? He’d enjoy that very much. Wade wondered just what mischievousness he was up to.

Wade nodded, leaning down to brush his lips against Peter’s again. It felt intoxicating. He hadn’t gotten to see him all day and he felt the absence greatly, much like a missing limb... before it grew back, that was. 

They were all so focused on the opening day that everyone was busy doing all they could to make it run as smoothly as possible. It meant long practices for Peter, and checking and rechecking everything was set up, perfect and unbroken, for Wade. Stark had started to ease up on sitting in for practices, but that only meant he was out stalking around the campsite, barking out orders in a way that everyone reassured Wade was normal. Tony Stark would never say it, Bucky had told Wade in a low voice as they hitched up a banner that had loosened, but they all knew the man’s biggest fear was failure. No matter how many cities they went to, or how many routines they ran, Tony would be a nervous wreck until they started selling tickets. 

So to say they’d been busy was an understatement.

Wade was immensely grateful for the circus and what it had given him, _who_ it had given him, but Stark had been right. There was _always_ something to do around the circus. He just wished more of that _something_ involved Peter.

He itched with the need to share his bed again, and he knew Peter felt it just as much as he did, _had_ been feeling it since that first time all those nights ago. Not just to be intimate, but to simply relax against one another and enjoy their presence.

Peter let the kiss deepen, allowing his hands to trail up and relax against Wade’s chest. Wade found his hands automatically resting along Peter’s hips, their usual spot, and he could feel the exposed skin warm through his leather gloves. He wished he’d thought to take them off along with his mask earlier.

“Take them off.” Peter mumbled into his mouth, as if reading his mind. Wade obliged and slipped them off without needing to move from Peter’s teasing kisses. Hadn’t he been sent here to watch him practice?

They had plenty of practice in the kissing department.

Once Wade had slipped off his gloves and tucked them in next to his mask, he nudged Peter away playfully. He shook his head as Peter persistently leaned up for more.

“Aren’t you going to practice?” Wade managed to say through his chuckles. He was still getting used to the constant warmth he felt in his chest whenever he was around Peter. He’d felt cold and numb for so long it often caught him by surprise.

There wasn’t much Wade wouldn’t do to keep that feeling or to keep the smiling man in front of him.

Peter stretched up on tip toes to give one last defiant kiss.

“Yes,” he finally said as he settled back on his heels. “But I’m going to need your help.”

Wade blinked, beyond confused. “My help?”

But Peter didn’t elaborate further, only nodded his head at the question and took one of Wade’s larger hands in his. He tugged him forward, farther into the light, closer to the hoop. There were many things Wade could do if he tried, he reckoned, but this was not one of them.

“I don’t know the first thing about this kind of thing,” Wade argued even as he let himself be led along. Again, there wasn’t much he wouldn’t be willing to do for this boy if asked. A thought that still scared Wade, but it only made him desperate to never find out what it might take to lose him.

But maybe he’d found it today. There was no way Wade was doing anything remotely similar to what Peter could do on that circle of death.

“Don’t be silly,” Peter grasped the hoop in his other hand to steady it. “I’m right here, you’ll be fine! I’ll direct you.”

Wade wanted to grumble out a refusal but one glance of that hopeful face and the fight left him.

He sighed. “Alright. What do you want me to do?”

It was a good thing Wade couldn’t die, he thought as he watched Peter attempt to hide his pleased smile, too large to contain. It seemed there wasn’t much he wouldn’t be willing to do to see _that_ for the rest of his life, either. 

“So,” Peter instructed, “the key is balance. There’s no back to lean on, so you have to use your core to keep upright.” Peter poked him in the stomach and Wade wheezed out a breath. It’d been a little stronger than anticipated.

Peter snatched his hand back quickly and cringed as he stammered out, “Sorry, sorry, I’m just nervous.”

The corner of Wade’s mouth turned down. That didn’t sound reassuring. 

Peter saw the look on his face and blushed. “No! I didn’t mean—” He cut off his explanation with a dejected sigh, looking away. He muttered out sadly, “I’m doing this all wrong.”

A pang of regret went through Wade. He hadn’t meant to make Peter feel bad. Trying something like this for the first time, and in front of Peter no less, brought out a slew of Wade’s insecurities. There was a reason he covered up and kept to himself. No part of him wanted limelight or an audience. 

But if Peter wanted to try something with him…. Well, he’d put on a smile and give it his best effort.

Wade curved a finger under Peter’s chin and raised it so their eyes met. They glistened with unshed tears and Wade couldn’t stop himself from leaning down to give him a reassuring kiss.

“None of that now,” he murmured, hands cupping Peter’s cheek as his thumbs gently swiped away tears. “Show me what you want me to do. I make no promises about being good at it though.”

Peter laughed a little wetly, wiping at his eyes as he said, “ _You’ll_ be more than good. I’m worried about _me_.”

Before Wade could question what Peter had meant by that, because there was _no way_ Wade would be any better at this than Peter, the other man was already moving around the hoop. Peter stopped on the other side of it, looking through to see Wade, as his arms held it steady.

“Okay,” he said. “Now turn around and slowly sit down until you feel the hoop against the back of your thighs. Not too high up, you don’t want to sit directly on it, but not too far down, you don’t want it resting behind your knees.”

Wade hesitated for a moment but at Peter’s encouraging nod turned around and lowered himself onto the hoop. The hoop itself was solid but it was so slim that sitting on it felt like sitting on a seesaw. Thankfully he was taller than Peter, so he could keep his feet planted firmly on the ground to help his balance. He didn’t know where to rest his hands so he kept them clasped in his lap.

“I’m going to let go now,” Peter warned. “It might sway a bit, but if you sit up straight and keep your stomach tight you should be fine.”

With that, Wade felt Peter let go. It really was different not to have his stabilizing grip. He felt if he leaned back too far he’d fall, but in compensating forward the hoop tilted with him. His hands came to rest on either side quickly in his imbalance. The sides were much easier for him to reach than Peter as he took up much more room in the circle. The grip helped a little and his swaying settled down.

Wade looked up to see Peter beaming proudly at him. “Good job! It took me _way_ more tries to balance on that thing for the first time. I still fall sometimes, even with my abilities.”

Wade flushed at the praise. He still wondered exactly what sitting in this damn thing was going to do to help Peter practice.

“So what—”

But the question was torn from him as Wade watched Peter lower to his knees directly in front of him. He gulped at the sudden dryness in his throat and croaked out, “W-what are you doing?”

Peter shuffled closer, hands sliding up to grip higher on Wade’s muscular thighs. He looked up from under his lashes. “Remember what we agreed on?”

It took Wade a second before it hit him. Right. Their little deal. 

Wade hadn’t thought much of it, to be honest. He’d thought it would end up being something innocent like buying Peter a pop or helping him with some daily chore in retribution. He hadn’t thought about anything like what _this_ looked like.

Wade, voice gone, could only nod.  
  
Peter’s hands slid up slowly, intently, and Wade felt their movement as if there was no fabric between them at all. Wade shivered. When fingers finally settled on the fly of his pants the confidence Peter displayed seemed to falter. He glanced up unsure as he asked, “Is this okay?”

“Peter…” Wade struggled to find his voice. “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready."

Peter’s hands tightened, slipping his fingers over the waistband of his trousers. Wade felt himself harden in response.

“I am. I want to.” Peter replied stubbornly and his pink tongue came to swipe nervously across dry lips. “I want to do this for you. Please, Wade... Let me?”

Wade might have been able to do extraordinary things, _impossible_ things, but he was still only a man. A fragile, fallible man completely susceptible to big brown eyes seeking permission, and a soft eager voice to match. He let one hand slip off the hoop, causing him to wobble for a brief moment, to skim a thumb along that now slick bottom lip. That _oh-so-tempting_ bottom lip. 

Oh, how he wanted. 

“You’re sure?”

Peter pressed a kiss to the thumb still resting on his lip and nodded. Wade took a moment to search the younger man's face but all he found there was hope and heat. Peter really did want to do this for him. Wade resisted shaking his head in disbelief. Wade didn’t deserve this kid dirting his knees for him, but for some strange reason Peter didn’t seem to think that. 

Wade’s uncertainty crumbled in a wash of plush lips and weak resolve. It had been way too long since he’d felt a warm mouth.

Wade withdrew his hand to place it back in its previous position, knuckles tightening around the steel in a vice grip. He trusted Peter to know his own limits. Plus, it meant Wade would get to explore Peter in the same way, hopefully, later. As vulnerable as all this made Wade feel, he was ready for it. It had been years of his own touch, alone in the dark, sometimes too disgusted with himself to finish. Around Peter, that all changed. Want had burned low in his stomach since the moment he’d laid eyes on the other man. Suddenly the libido that had long since settled into dying embers was stoked into a raging flame.

Peter’s hands shook slightly as he continued his quest to unfasten Wade’s pants but his fingers never fumbled. Wade closed his eyes at the image, holding in a moan at the first touch as Peter drew his eager, dripping cock out of his britches.

Wade tilted his head back, not sure how long he’d last if he kept watching. The light from above them was bright even behind his closed eyelids and for a moment he panicked, having the irrational thought that Peter would change his mind because of his textured, scarred skin under the bright, unforgiving light before remembering Peter had already seen it. He’d still made the decision to touch Wade despite the horrific sight awaiting him underneath his clothes.

A thought struck Wade suddenly then, and his eyes opened quickly. He blinked spots out of his vision from the blinding light as he glanced down frantically at Peter. They weren’t back in Peter’s bed doing this. This was the main tent. Anyone could walk in here!

“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” Wade said in a rushed voice, feeling suddenly like anyone could walk in at any moment. “Someone could see.”

Wade looked down at the kneeled man before him and the image would forever be burned into his memory; Peter frozen, mouth mere inches from his cock, looking up coyly through his long lashes at him.

“Already taken care of.” Peter reassured him in a tone that was a tad smug, as if satisfied by his own planning. “Plus, I can sense if anyone is nearby.”

Wade went to argue but Peter’s grip tightened, thumbing a raised ridge of scar tissue, and the argument left him at the same time a small moan slipped out, unable to be held back. 

“Just lean back and enjoy this Wade,” Peter whispered before his tongue licked softly at the head of his dick. “Tell me if I—if I do anything wrong, okay?”

Wade was dying. He had to be. Peter licked again at the underside of his dick, tonguing a particularly defined scar. Wade groaned. “Y-you’re doing a fine job already, baby boy,” he replied in a shaky voice.

Wade closed his eyes again and missed Peter’s pleased smile. The reassurance seemed to be all the encouragement Peter needed. He continued to explore Wade’s cock as if it was some uncharted territory for him to conquer. Wade supposed in a way it was. He jolted, causing the hoop to sway slightly, when Peter finally wrapped his lips over the top and slowly slid down; hot, wet suction enveloped Wade and he tightened his hands along the hoop so he wouldn’t do something stupid like run his fingers through Peter’s hair.

He wanted Peter to call the shots. Didn’t want to scare him with Wade’s large, demanding bulk forcing him to move in a way he wasn't comfortable with. As much as the overwhelming pleasure coursed through him, he held back. It had been so long that Peter’s eager mouth felt perfect even in its inexperience. Wade’s hands twitched again, wanting to reach out and cup Peter’s face. If only to feel himself move behind Peter’s hollowed out cheeks and run his fingers over the red lips stretched wide around his cock.

But he stayed where he was, wishing he could push up into that velvet smooth mouth, but the hoop swayed dangerously every time he tried. The last thing he wanted to do was fall off the damn thing. In his frustration he failed to stop the sounds that started to escape him, little groans falling louder from his lips as Peter started to ease into a more steady rhythm. His tongue stroked under the head with each upstroke and Wade felt a thrill run through him every time he did. 

Peter pulled off then. He nuzzled closer to place a kiss on Wade’s stomach where his shirt had ridden up just enough to expose a small sliver of soft, scarred skin. Wade bit his lip as Peter’s tight fist continued to stroke him determinedly. 

“You gotta— Peter, s-slow down or I’m g-gonna—” Wade looked down at Peter and nearly came at the sight before him; flushed cheeks and red, puffy lips that were parted enticingly.

“Well,” Peter blinked up at him as if he had no idea he was slowly causing Wade to fall apart. “It’s not like I can’t do it again, right?” The innocence in Peter’s expression punched out a groan from deep within Wade’s chest and he couldn’t stop his hand from moving this time.

It was halfway to cupping Peter’s face before he remembered the silent rule he had put in place for himself. Peter was running this show, not Wade. As much as Wade would have loved to settle a hand along the back of Peter’s skull, a steadying weight as he bobbed, he didn’t want to pressure Peter into anything. 

Peter’s eyes flicked to the movement, and he licked his lips. He cleared his throat. “You can touch, Wade..." His eyes darkened. “Please?”

This kid was killing him, he thought desperately, and this was as close to heaven as Wade was ever going to get. 

Wade let his hand finish it’s path to brush across a soft cheek. He cupped it gently as his thumb rubbed tenderly across a cheekbone. Peter tilted his head to place a kiss on Wade’s palm before he leaned back in to continue what he’d been doing. The movement caused Wade’s hand to slip upwards and his fingers settled into soft, brown curls. The feeling had Wade’s hand tightening and suddenly _Peter_ was the one moaning as he gently guided him up and down, into a more consistent rhythm. It vibrated around his cock and had Wade shaking. He settled his hand down further around the short, soft curls at the base Peter’s neck, and left his hand a solid, encouraging weight there. 

Peter slipped off Wade’s cock with a wet pop, chest heaving in a desperate attempt to get air. Wade’s dick was shiny and slick from Peter’s spit and his exhales blew shockingly cool over Wade’s hot, wet skin. His hand slid perfectly over Wade’s hard length before Peter bent down again. God, Wade’s eyes screwed up as pleasure engulfed him again. At this rate he wouldn’t last much longer, was honestly surprised he’d lasted _this_ long. He felt that unmistaken tingle of pleasure building up as Peter continued to bob his head under the guidance of Wade’s hand. 

The hand not gripping Wade’s cock, which was making short upwards strokes on the skin Peter’s mouth couldn’t get to, slipped from its position on Wade’s thigh. Wade watched as it slipped out of view before reappearing in the space left in the vee of his legs. He could see enough to recognize that Peter was touching himself through his outfit. 

The soft fluttery moan around him, and the shudder that went through Peter as he touched himself while still sucking Wade, was all it took. Wade attempted to push Peter off as he felt it build up, unable to form words to warn him, but Peter used his strength to stubbornly stay where he was, sucking harder as if he knew exactly what was about to happen.

Wade’s pleasure exploded like a supernova, crested over him like a wave, and he found himself leaning forward over Peter, hand slipping down the back of his neck to rest along the knobs of his spine as he curled around the man and shuddered through his release. The hoop creaked as his other hand tightened around it, trembling through the aftershocks.

It took a moment for him to come back to himself. He leaned back, afraid he’d hurt Peter, but he seemed perfectly fine; left in a daze as Wade slipped, now soft, from his mouth. 

The image Peter made, dammit, Wade could hardly stand it. Peter kneeled before him, hard in his tiny practice shorts, with blown pupils and a slack, red mouth all because of what he’d just done to Wade. It put thoughts in his head he’d never been able to act on before, and having Peter in front of him now, pliant and sex drunk… 

Wade stood suddenly, tucking himself back in quickly before reaching down to heft Peter up under his armpits into standing position. He kissed that swollen, shiny mouth and murmured, “You with me, baby?”

Peter nodded slowly, clinging to Wade and searching for more kisses. Wade planted a few across his cheeks before ordering, gently, “I want you to get on the hoop. Can you do that for me?”

That seemed to snap Peter out of it a little. He leaned back in confusion to look up at Wade, his brows furrowed and nose scrunched adorably. “Wh-what? Why?”

Wade left a hand roam down to cup Peter through his shorts. He squeaked as Wade gave a small squeeze. “Because you’re still hard and I want to help change that.”

Peter shook his head. “Wade, this was for you. I don’t expect—”

Wade shushed him, bringing a scarred finger to settle over Peter’s lips to silence his protests.

“I wasn’t asking, sweetheart. Now,” Wade forcibly turned him and nudged him to walk backward like he’d directed Wade a short bit ago, “up you go.” With that Wade helped heave him up, Pete squawking out a laugh as Wade clumsily helped him get seated on the hoop.

Peter was smaller and shorter than Wade, so his positioning was a little different. To compensate for his lack of footing he had to spread his legs farther and hold on with both hands to the top of the hoop. Once he looked settled enough Wade directed him to lift his hips so he could peel the sinfully tight shorts down past his hips. Peter blushed and hesitated, eyes flickering around as if someone would pop out of the shadows. 

Wade couldn’t help his soft chuckle. “What did you tell me earlier? It’s just you and me.” Wade leaned in to nip at Peter’s ear lobe as he whispered, “You best make sure you keep an ear out, though. Wouldn’t want anyone to stumble in and see you spread out like this for me, huh, baby boy? No, this is only for me.”

Shaking as the words sent visible chills down his spine Peter obeyed, lifting his lips so Wade could pull his shorts down enough to let him spring free. Peter made a whining noise as his hard cock hit his stomach, leaving a wet mark behind on his skin. 

Wade was kneeling in front of Peter before he even realized he’d moved. He looked up and his gaze locked with Peter’s. A charge seemed to fill the air and he didn't grab at him right away like he wanted. Instead Wade caressed his knuckles, thick and rough with scar tissue, over the exposed underside of Peter’s smooth cock. A small gasp escaped him before he caught his bottom lip in between his teeth, as if that would help hold in the sound. Wade swiped his thumb across the glistening, wet head; everything about Peter was smaller than Wade. But he was still a decent size, cock slim and long. Perfect. He’d feel wonderful in Wade’s mouth.

Wade wrapped his hand around the base of Peter’s length and guided him into his mouth. It took a moment to remember the tricks of the trade. Wade hadn’t been with someone in a long time. A man, even longer. But Peter didn’t seem to be complaining, if his small whimpers and shallow thrusts were anything to go by.

Peter clearly had more confidence with the hoop than Wade had, seeing as how he was used to working with it. His arms strained as he used them for leverage to lift his hips off the hoop and up into Wade’s mouth. Instead of wobbling on the hoop, throwing him off balance, it rocked to his advantage. Apparently it wasn’t enough, though, because Peter whined low in his throat and suddenly Wade was jostled as Peter threw a leg over his broad shoulder to pull him in closer.

Wade let himself be guided deeper, and relaxed his throat, allowing Peter to slide until his nose was skimming his toned, taut stomach. He let his hands wander over Peter’s soft, sweet skin and relished in the shiver he felt under his hands. 

Wade knew it wouldn’t be much longer, what with the stuttering of Peter’s hips and the little whines falling from Peter’s lips. Wade sucked, hollowing his cheeks as he lifted up, laving the underside of Peter’s cock before deepthroating him once more with a deep reverberating groan. 

That was all it took before Peter was stilling in his arms, leg digging almost painfully into the middle of Wade’s back as he felt Peter start to come. He drew Wade’s name out in a long moan Wade was sure he’d be dreaming about for the rest of his life. He attempted to swallow every last drop but Peter kept coming and a bit of it escaped, dribbling out the side of his mouth.

Only once Peter slumped in his hold, leg going slack, did Wade pull off. He left a quick kiss to the head as he softened and Peter twitched, oversensitized. He took great care in slipping Peter’s leg off his back and keeping hold of Peter’s body as he stood. His hands followed up Peter’s lean arms and rubbed at his fingers to let go. As if stiff from their strong grip, it took a moment for Peter to loosen them. Wade lifted him up to help him stand.

“I gotcha,” he murmured reassuringly as he planted Peter safely on the floor and hiked his shorts back up to rest low on his hips. Peter swayed slightly, legs almost giving out, and Wade knew the younger man needed a moment to recover.

Not caring that the floor was full of dust and hay, hell they’d been kneeling in it anyway, he settled on the floor, gathering Peter in his arms so he could seat him in his lap. Wade leaned in to kiss Peter’s slack lips, then wiped apologetically at the shininess he’d accidently left behind on them.

“I’m sorry, baby boy. I kind of lost control there. You okay?”

Peter blinked up at him dazedly and replied hoarsely, “I’m fine. I just—that was… intense.”

He wouldn’t disagree with that. It definitely had been. It had been a long time since Wade had felt anything like that… if ever. Wade placed a kiss on the top of Peter’s head, nuzzling in before asking quietly, intimately, “Did you enjoy it?”

Peter hid his blushing face in Wade’s chest but nodded his head slightly. Wade frowned. He had nothing to be ashamed of. He’d been amazing for all of it. He whispered as such into Peter’s temple.

Peter kept his face hidden, but Wade could see the pleased upturn of his lips.

“So you liked it?” Peter asked softly, voice holding a touch of uncertainty. Of course he’d be worried about Wade.

Wade chuckled and kissed Peter’s ear. “Of course, Peter. I wouldn’t have shot off like a geyser otherwise,” he joked. “Or practically jumped you.”

He rubbed back and forth along the warm skin of Peter’s side. He didn’t want to stop touching this amazing, beautiful, absolutely alluring man in his arms.

“What about you, did you like it?” Wade asked in a voice he hardly recognized as it was hoarse from what he’d just done, and still deep with arousal. He situated Peter higher into his lap. Peter’s legs sprawled over his powerful thighs to squeeze at his hips and arms wound around his neck. Peter nodded against his lips but Wade wanted to hear him say it. Wade wasn’t exactly sure where this was coming from, but it was a heady feeling. 

He pressed kisses down Peter’s neck before biting just hard enough to gain a gasp out of the smaller man. “I want to hear you say it, sweetheart. Did you like it?”

Wade felt Peter gulp, mouth still pressed to his neck as he waited.

“Y-yes,” Peter stammered out, blush spreading farther down over his neck and chest. 

Wade laved at the bite he’d left behind before kissing just under Peter’s jawline, lips skimming his fluttering pulse point as he praised softly, “Good boy.”

Peter shuddered in his arms and Wade felt his renewed interest twitch hard against his stomach. He groaned and just managed to stop himself from pushing the other boy back onto the floor for round two. Peter had awoken something in Wade he wasn’t sure he could control. 

Suddenly Peter went shockingly still in his arms and his head turned in a direction as if focusing on something.

He glanced back to Wade with a disappointed look. “We should probably get going,” he said in a voice that suggested he wanted to do anything but.

Wade reigned in his own disappointment and stood up, lifting Peter easily to help him stand on shaky legs. Before he could do or say anything Peter was grasping Wade’s larger hand in his.

“Will… Will you stay with me tonight?” Wade glanced down, blue eyes meeting beautiful brown ones that shined with apprehension. Peter looked so braced for rejection it made Wade tug him closer. There was nothing Wade wanted more in that moment than to wrap Peter up in his arms and spend the night with him. Nightmares or people’s opinions be damned. 

“Of course, baby boy.”

The blinding smile that spread across Peter’s face was worth it, and Wade let the worries melt away in the wake of the happiness that spread through him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little sweetness after the spiciness of that last chapter. 😂
> 
> Thanks for all the love, comments, kudos, etc. ♥️ Really.
> 
> We're getting close to the end, but still lots of excitement to come yet.  
> Any predictions (especially those who have watched the movie)?
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this chapter!

Wade woke not all at once but steadily, as if lifting through the fog of a deep, restful sleep.

The feeling was strange and foreign to him. He could count on one hand how many times he’d slept through the night in recent years and actually felt rested afterwards. The most recent time he’d felt like this was because he’d been with—

_Peter._

Wade’s eyes snapped open, awake, even as his thoughts filtered up through the haze of sleep, slowly letting its possessive curl loosen. Wade blinked into the silent, silvery darkness. It was still pretty early in the morning, then, if the sun had yet to make an appearance. He shifted slightly as the remembrance of last night hit him. After Peter’s impromptu, yet amazing _surprise_ they’d stopped at Wade’s tent to grab him some clothes before making their way to the wagon Peter called his own.

Wade hadn’t felt nearly as protective of keeping himself covered, not after what they’d just shared. Wordlessly, they helped each other out of their clothes and once they were clad only in their undergarments did they finally find their way under the covers. Wade knew they both had the thoughts of what they’d done together flitting through their minds, sparking desire low in their bellies once more as their skin brushed as they arranged comfortably on the bed. 

Peter settled flat on his back, allowing Wade to lean over him as they shared kisses back and forth. Wade was addicted to the soft plushness of Peter’s lips against his own textured ones. It felt like what he’d suppose kissing a cloud would be like and as Peter often made him feel like he was soaring through the sky, it was fitting. Each kiss continued to deepen, Peter’s hands curling loosely around a strong bicep and the back of Wade’s neck to pull him closer still, but after a few more traded kisses all it took was one mighty interrupting yawn from Peter to have Wade’s arousal ebbing; it swiftly changed into something softer and tender. He knew how hard Peter worked and how much he needed his sleep because of it. He wouldn’t let his own fickle relationship with the sandman stop Peter from getting the rest he deserved.

So he’d planted one last regretful kiss on Peter’s lips before he’d maneuvered them around so Peter was snug against his side, tucked under Wade’s chin; Peter’s right arm splayed across his wide, scarred chest as he snuggled down into Wade like a pillow. Peter hadn’t objected once, just let his hand roam over the scars not covered by the blanket, fingers dancing teasingly across his skin as they barely brushed over certain spots in their exploration.

Wade had let him. He’d trailed his own hand up and down Peter’s arm encouragingly even as the thoughts and memories raced through his head. His chest had felt tight and exposed, like it could crack open at any moment, but he didn’t have it in him to make Peter stop. He’d never let anyone touch him like that, save for Vanessa. Even then he knew she’d always had it in the back of her mind, the image of the man he used to be, whenever her fingertips grazed across his pockmarked skin. She’d never said that to him, of course. Never would. Her heart had always been too damn big. No, she’d just never been very good at hiding her emotions from him; he could read her as easy as a page from his favorite book. She’d always had the most expressive face, and he’d loved her for it even if it hurt to see her mourning the man he used to look like. He’d just been thankful _she_ had loved him enough to see the man trapped inside was still the same one she’d fallen in love with.

Peter, though… 

He liked Wade, scars and all. Peter had met Wade that way, had never met him as the attractive, exuberant man Vanessa had known him as. Peter only knew him as the damaged, gruff man that had let life beat him down, and he still somehow had managed to find something worth looking for; buried in the depths of it all, somehow able to pull it out, shine it up and claim it as something worth pursuing.

Wade had stopped looking for that part of himself the moment Vanessa was gone… for all that he hadn’t physically died, that part of him had surely been taken from him right along with her. He had all but felt the death of it, mind numbingly severed and _vacant._ The young man dreaming peacefully next to him had started to remind him that maybe it hadn’t left him completely after all.

Wade had a lot to be thankful for, but he was most thankful for Peter.

As the last remnants of sleep scattered, he glanced down at the beautiful man occupying his thoughts. From the brightness of the moon outside the entrance of the wagon he could just make out Peter’s outline; his bare back faced Wade as the warmth of sleep radiated off him. He figured if he couldn’t go back to sleep then a little cuddle session wouldn’t hurt. 

Enjoying the thought of holding Peter close as he slept, and still astonished he got to have this, Wade took extra care in not waking him up. He slid closer slowly, closing the space between them gradually. They’d clearly distanced in their deep sleep, since they’d fallen asleep embracing one another. Wade wasn’t sure what kind of a sleeper he was anymore, since he hadn’t slept consistently in years, but he knew from before that whatever position he fell asleep in he often stayed in. Peter, it seemed, not so much. 

He shifted even in the few minutes Wade was awake; little leg movements or a twitch of his hands, as if he was somehow practicing in his sleep. Peter shifted a little farther onto his stomach as Wade got closer still. It caused Wade to pause, afraid he’d woken the other man up, but only an adorably soft snore met him and he continued on.

Once he was close enough that their skin was just shy of touching, Wade let his hand roam freely. He didn’t want to disturb his dreaming boy, but Peter’s skin, even if he could barely see it, was so very tempting. Surely skin wasn’t _this_ soft... but perhaps his memory was a little skewed since the only skin Wade had touched in the past five years had been his own scarred, textured flesh. Wade exhaled quietly as he let his hand skim down the addictive curve of Peter’s spine.

Wade frowned into the darkness at the knobs he felt his fingertips run over. Peter’s stature made it clear he’d been a petite kid growing up but he remembered what Peter had told him in the train about going hungry on the streets. He looked too skinny, in Wade’s opinion, for someone who now was somewhere that provided them all with more than enough food. Wade had seen how the chefs cook around this place. 

That wasn’t to say Wade didn’t like how Peter looked. No, the kid was amazingly lithe from his work at the circus and beautiful to boot, but Wade saw how the jut of his hip bones were almost too prominent and his lean muscles stood out on his slim arms. He saw the way his clothes sometimes hung off him and the suspenders he typically wore with his pants to keep them up.

Wade saw, and felt, the spots that Peter could fill out in. He had a theory that the mutation might be behind it. He sure knew how much he could eat when his body so felt inclined, especially after healing. With the daily exertion Peter put his body through, it made sense. Wade had noticed, because he noticed most things about Peter, how the boy ate every meal as if it might be his last, plate nearly licked clean, but never once asked for more. He’d protest even what extra Wade managed to give him, even if he ate it like he hadn’t just eaten a full meal besides. Wade made a mental note to talk to Stark, see if he knew anything about it, then continued exploring the enticing skin laid out bare before him.

Peter didn’t once wake. Not even as the sun outside shooed the moon away, light creeping across the sky as the birds started twittering their good mornings. Wade’s arm had found itself wrapped around Peter’s abdomen, petting at his tight, soft belly. Peter stretched in his sleep, mouth smacking adorably as he snuggled closer into Wade behind him. It left him tucked under Wade’s chin, his back to the larger man's front.

Wade sighed in contentment, letting his eyes fall closed again as he dozed for a little while longer. The warm, pleasant feeling of having Peter in his arms combined with the happiness in his heart was making it hard to want to get up, even as the smell of breakfast wafted around him, and the voices of everyone else slowly waking up filtered mutedly into the wagon. Those were clear signs they’d need to get up soon, but Wade simply didn’t want this moment to end.

He let himself, and Peter, have a few more blissful minutes before he dropped a kiss to the top of Peter’s head. He stilled, waiting for a reaction, but the brunette slept on. Wade pulled him closer, shifting to place a kiss to his temple. When that movement still gained no response Wade continued to plant small kisses down one rosey cheek, along his jawline into the hollow of his throat until finally he felt Peter shift against him.

A sleepy whimper escaped Peter and his head shifted back against Wade’s shoulder and an arm slid loosely over the one Wade had around his midsection.

“‘S’morning already?” he asked in a drowsy mumble, clearly not happy with having been woken up, even if it was from Wade’s kisses.

“Hate to say it,” Wade turned to whisper just behind the shell of Peter’s ear, “but it’s definitely morning.”

A few birds chose that moment to fly close by, singing brightly right outside as if to support Wade’s point.

Peter groaned in protest and snuggled back into Wade, head burrowing back into his pillow.

Wade smiled into Peter’s hair as an idea suddenly struck him. He placed another kiss along Peter’s skin, this time to his delectable shoulder, before telling him, “Go back to dreamland, sleepy boy. I’ll grab us some breakfast.”

A soft snore was the only response Wade received. 

He stifled his laughter as he extracted himself slowly and delicately from the slumbering boy before him. Peter must have slipped back into the deep thrall of sleep once more because it neither bothered nor disturbed him one bit.

Wade dressed quickly and quietly. His hand hovered in hesitation over his mask and gloves before making the decision to forgo them. At least for this. He slipped his shoes on and tried not to shake the wagon much as he climbed down and made his way towards breakfast with a happy heart and a soft, secret smile.

Wade wasn’t sure what made him think about bringing Peter breakfast except for the adorable way he’d grumbled as he’d woken up. He knew Peter must be hungry as both of them had missed dinner last night because of their, uh, activities. Seeing Peter’s sleepy eyes, mussed hair, and overly tired demeanor made him want to give Peter those few extra minutes. If he went to get breakfast it meant they could enjoy it together in the wagon, allowing Peter a few more stolen minutes of slumber and Wade more alone time with Peter. 

It was a win-win, and Wade hadn’t gotten many of those in his life to allow it to slip through his fingers that easily. So if it meant subjecting himself to the potential questions, and most likely teasing, of the group gathering at the breakfast tables, so be it.

Peter was worth it.

As he predicted, though, it was early enough that the full crew wasn’t yet congregated at the tables. That didn’t mean there weren't already a handful of sleepy-eyed circus performers mingling about; their eyes half-mast as their forks narrowly missed as they shoveled eggs into their mouths, clearly fighting against the urge to thunk their heads down onto the picnic tables and catch a few more Z’s. 

No one seemed to pay him any mind as he ambled up to the cook. The cook in question was a burly gentleman with tired eyes who merely nodded in greeting; he was usually quiet in the mornings considering he woke up far earlier than anyone else to prepare breakfast. Wade, who understood and appreciated the act of silent communication, simply nodded back. With that, he readied Wade a plate. When he was ready to hand it over, however, was when Wade politely asked for two more. He’d personally be fine with one, the man always made sure to be more than generous in his portions, but he wanted Peter to have a good, full-bullied start to the day. 

The chef didn’t seem fussed and doled out two more plates obligingly. Wade thanked him as he attempted to rearrange the plates in his hands so he wouldn’t drop them on his journey back.

“You’d make a good juggler,” he heard a voice appraise from behind him. Wade turned carefully to see Bucky, hair messy and clothes rumpled like he’d just woken up, leaned against the end of a picnic table. 

Bucky shrugged, crossing his arms across his chest. “You know, if you ever needed to figure out your talent.”

 _My talent._ Wade huffed out a laugh. “Sure. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You might be onto somethin’,” Bucky drawled before Wade could turn to leave. “Breakfast in bed sounds like a fine idea this morning. Couldn’t wake Steve to save my life, he’s out cold.”

Wade had nothing against Bucky, quite liked the guy in all honesty, but he was not in the mood for small talk this morning when he had a warm, sleepy Peter to get back into bed with. He knew they didn’t have much time to spend together but even if it was five minutes Wade wanted every second of it.

Bucky was eating into that time.

“Peter, too,” Wade replied conversationally. He’d never been the chatty sort before, especially after his mutation, but he kind of wanted this thing to work out here and that meant a lot of Wade doing things he hadn’t done in a while. “Figured he’d enjoy the few extra minutes of sleep.”

A small smile curled up on Bucky’s face before he replied, softer this time, “M’real glad he found someone like you, Wade. Enjoy your breakfast.”

Bucky’s comment went straight through him like an arrow, hurting in the best way. The implication he was good for Peter stunned him because Wade wasn’t so sure about that; the only thing he did know was he was the lucky one to have found someone like Peter. 

He nodded his head in thanks and replied with a hoarse, “You too.” It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to say, but it was all he could manage at the moment. Bucky seemed to understand just fine. 

With that Wade turned to take his acquired breakfast back to Peter. He wanted to see his confused, sleepy face when he woke up to Wade and the smell of food. 

Wade had almost made it to the wagon before he was interrupted again. This time by someone he was less inclined to stay and have a chat with.

He had passed Charles’ slow gait, hoping if he kept his head high enough and didn’t meet his eyes that the other man would let him pass on by. He didn’t want to waste anymore time or let the food go cold. He’d thought it worked when he managed a few steps past the knee-height man but Wade should have known better. Things normally didn’t go his way in life. Peter was clearly a fluke (one that he was immensely grateful for.)

A deep chuckle started up behind Wade. “Aw, is our poor little Peter so worn out he couldn’t make it to breakfast? That’s his favorite meal of the day.”

Wade refrained from chucking a plate at Charles. He planned to continue on, ignoring him like Peter said it was best to do, when the next comment out of his mouth was so inappropriate Wade saw red.

He spun around so fast a few sausages were sacrificed to his anger, rolling off the edge of the plate and landing forgotten in the dirt.

Charles must have read the look on Wade’s unmasked face because the amusement drained out of his face right along with its color. He took a few hasty steps backwards as Wade stalked towards him but Wade’s long strides were nothing compared to Charles short, shuffling steps.

Wade loomed over him, using all the height he had on the other man (which wasn’t hard), as the words he couldn’t hold back spilled from his lips. “Listen, kid, I know all about being an insufferable jerk. I practically wrote the damn book.”

Charles made an indignant noise at being called a kid but before he could verbalize a formal protest Wade was carrying on.

“I get it.” Wade sneered. “You must have had it _pretty_ _bad_ , huh? I bet Daddy ran out early on you all when he found out he’d never have the kind of son he could brag about to his buddies, too scared to stay in case it happened again. All the while Mama was too riddled with grief to give you the attention you deserved. Perhaps some part of her blamed you, even, because every time she looked at you it reminded her of everything she’d lost.” Wade snorted self-deprecatingly. “Believe me, I get that part.”

He leaned in closer so Charles had to crane his neck up to keep his sights on Wade; his hands shook slightly as they twisted together in front of him nervously. A part of Wade relished in that fact, another part just hoped it meant he was getting his damn point across.

“Those past pains don’t stay in the past, they don’t leave us alone. No, they’re like chains, weighing us down, keeping us stuck with those terrorizing memories _every single day_. But here’s the thing: staying in the past doesn’t change ‘em, and being an asshole to the people who care about you isn’t anything but a sad attempt to drag them down into the darkness alongside you.”

Wade shook his head. “Peter’s too bright for that. Despite the shit hand he’s been dealt in life he’s practically the fucking _sun_ , so keep him the fuck out of your doom and gloom,” Wade growled.

He didn’t give Charles the opportunity to answer simply because he wasn’t done yet. He continued on, refraining from clenching his fists tight in anger due to their precious job of holding Peter and his’ breakfast.

“I don’t care what you say about me. I’m sure it wouldn’t be original, and I’ve got some thick fuckin’ skin besides, but if I hear Peter’s name in your mouth again or find out you even _looked_ at him funny, you’re gonna have to answer to me. I’ll take it into my own hands… and they won’t be full next time.”

Wade was having just enough of a bad skin day to know his scars would pull menacingly if he twisted his lips into a nasty smile. “I don’t have much else to lose, pal. Just remember that. I’ve done worse shit to people for less, and you may be small,” Wade glared down his nose at the tiny, arrogant, quivering man in front of him and said with an edge of finality, “but there’s plenty I could still do to you.”

With that ominous threat left to hang between them Wade took more care as he spun around to head back to where Peter slept on, oblivious to Wade potentially screwing this whole opportunity up for himself.

He couldn’t help but fret as each step drew him closer to where, not a moment ago, he’d been excited to get to. Wade had no idea how Peter would react when he found out how he’d snapped at and threatened Charles. Wade had only just come into Peter’s life and Charles may be an asshole, but he was an asshole Peter considered family. He would imagine Peter wouldn’t take kindly to him threatening the people he cared deeply for. Stark either, for that matter.

Wade shook his reeling thoughts away. He wouldn’t let the negative, contemptuous voices in his head ruin this morning with Peter. No, he’d enjoy every minute he had left of it. He’d let them beat him into worry and self-doubt later in the day, when he had the time to himself to mindlessly repeat the incident with Charles over and over again, highlighting his lack of control and failure at being a decent, docile boyfriend.

When he arrived outside Peter's he’d completely shoved the event and the harrowing thoughts that followed from his mind. His only problem now was… 

Just how exactly was he supposed to climb up into the wagon with his hands full?


End file.
